


THE KNAVE

by erestor



Series: KNAVE [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 97,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Orophin and Elladan, and how they finally found happiness. Some ties not even death can cut - and life is a never ending gamble. It is also the story of Erestor and Glorfindel, and how they cope with their little Elfling, Estorel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is angsty, though it has quite a bit of humour as well - but there are some chapters which are depressing. Do not worry about the "character death" warning, though: I only write happy endings. This is actually the story of Orophin, and of his brothers - how they became who they are today. Not what you expect...
> 
> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

It was a stormy night, many millennia ago, in a town of Men. Decent citizens stayed at home, their quilts pulled up to their noses, snoring peacefully after a day of hard work.

The less decent citizens, however, had gathered in the tavern, 'The Golden Hind', drinking, whoring and playing. The latter was done at a small table in the back room of the tavern. Officially, The King had banned gambling for wealth, and while it was known that he wasn't one to turn down a good game of cards himself, he expected to be obeyed. The owner of The Golden Hind felt no need to spend an extended vacation at his sovereign’s expense in the dungeons, or end his days on the gallows.

This night there were five players sitting around the table. The game had been going on for hours, and was now reaching its climax. Stakes were high – Dalley, the supervisor of the royal dungeons, had risked three months worth of wages plus his little cottage, and now he was sweating blood and tears. His opponent was not showing any sign of nerves, though whether this was due to an exceptionally fine set of cards, or the fact that he was an Elf, one could not tell.

"Well, well, well… my dear Dalley, I fear you have loaded more on your plate than you will manage to eat," the Elf sing-songed.

He was an intimidating sight – tall, even for his kind, with long silver coloured hair, and eyes which told of courage and mischief. He was a regular visitor of the Golden Hind's backroom, a reckless and dangerous player, and many a piece of gold had found its way in his pockets over the years.

He grinned, and presented his cards on the table with an elegant gesture, then he propped up his head on his hand and batted his lashes at Dalley.

The man paled. For a moment, he only stared at the cards the Elf had shown. Then he looked up into those bright eyes, back on the cards, and threw his own on the table, accompanied by a desperate sigh.

"You have ruined me, my lord", he hissed between clenched teeth.

The Elf looked at the crestfallen man, then he addressed his companions.

"My friends – would you be so kind to give us a moment of privacy, so that Master Dalley and I may discuss the progress of this business?"

They all got up, shuffling chairs, and looked at Dalley with pity. They knew his wife – she would rake him over the coals for this, but not before having skinned him alive. When the last one had left the room and the door was closed, the Elf stretched, shoved back the chair and rested his long legs on the table. He folded his hands behind his head, and studied Dalley, bemused.

"You are ruined, my dear friend. You have lost all you have, and more."

Dalley nodded, and swallowed.

"I am a man of honour, my lord – I will pay what I owe you." he murmured, still staring at the dirty deck of cards in front of him.

"Ai – I have no doubt. Alas, I am an Elf of honour, my dear Dalley, and it is not my wish to see you ruined. I much prefer to see you well and prospering, so that we may play many more games in future. What would you say if I said I would call this game a day and forget about your debts – if you do me a small favor."

The shattered man looked up, a very tiny flame of hope showing in his eyes, but then suspicion won over.

"What 'small favor' are you talking about, my lord? It can't be that small considering the size of my debts."

The Elf chuckled.

"You are a clever man, Dalley, and worthy of your king's favor. But you shall not have to worry – it is not much I ask of you."

Dalley leant forward, so not to miss a word. The Elf held his gaze, and for a moment, Dalley was mesmerized by the wisdom and power behind those eyes.

The elegant fingers picked up one card, and the Elf let it dance in his fingers, the movement so quick that Dalley found it very hard to follow the motions. Finally, the Elven lord skipped the card over the table, where it landed in front of Dalley. It was the Knave of Hearts.

"You have one of my kin sitting in your dungeon. This is my prize. I want you to give me the Elf."

The man gasped.

"My lord – what you ask of me is impossible! I cannot release this prisoner, he is due to be hanged by the next morrow! Ah, he is a bad lot, my lord, not at all like the others of your people," Dalley eagerly added. "He has stolen, and robbed, and hurt two of our guards severely. t’is only right to teach him a lesson."

"What lesson can be learned by hanging from one’s neck, Dalley?" the Elf asked, bemused.

"Well …" the man stuttered, "I guess he will learn not to do this again."

"A very wise form of teaching, indeed. I suppose most people would find it difficult to do anything once they are dead."

The irony was lost on Dalley, who was torn between the prospect of facing the wrath of his king for letting a prisoner escape, and the prospect of facing the wrath of his wife when she learned that he had lost all their worldly possessions.

The bigger fear won.

"I shall do as you wish, my lord, and may the gods help me for this, but I must warn you; he is evil to the core, and there is not one good hair on his head. Just make sure he will not cut your throat when you sleep, for he is just the kind to do such things."

"I shall not sleep then. Let's go."

Elf and Man got up, and left the tavern.

* * *

‘Dungeons look the same where ever you go,’ the Elf thought. ‘If you have seen one, you've seen them all, maybe with exception of King Oropher's dungeons in Mirkwood, which had windows with curtains of a flowery print, but maybe that was part of the punishment.’

This dungeon here, however, was just that: a dungeon. A dark, stinking hole where people were left to rot or go insane. The Elf crinkled his nose in disgust at the place, the stench, and the customs of Men in general. He longed for his home, and the faster he could leave this place, the better.

He followed Dalley through tunnels and corridors, and finally, they stood in front of a heavy wooden door, fastened with iron bars and a very tiny opening, not much more than a peek hole.

"Here we are, my lord. But keep your hand on the hilt of your sword at all times. He is dangerous."

The Elf nodded.

"Here are the keys – from now on, you are in the hands of the gods, and I don't know anything," Dalley muttered. He quickly retreated to the other end of the corridor, locking himself away in his office.

"So then, let's see what this dangerous beast looks like," the Elf said to himself. He put the key in the hole and opened the door. It screeched, and he winced; for his Elven ears, the sound was torture.

He was taken aback by the smell in the small room, which was not much more than a rat hole. There was dirt, waste, blood – and he also smelled anger and fear, a mix which could be dangerous.

The prisoner was shackled to the wall, huddled on some dirty straw. He was in rags and covered in dirt, and there was an angry wound on his head. The Elven lord suspected that the other Elf had blond hair, but as it was short and spiky, and as dirty as the rest of him, he couldn't be sure.

"What is your name, mellon?” the lord said in his native tongue, and upon hearing those words, the head of the prisoner shot up. All he could see were two sparkling green lights in the darkness – his eyes.

"Bloody hell, speak in a language I can understand,” the chained Elf snapped, and tried to move away from his visitor. He failed, as the shackles didn't give him much leeway.

The Elf repeated his question in Westron, but all he got as a reply was an angry; "Who wants to know this!"

"I am Celeborn of Doriath."

"Celeborn? Ha!" The other Elf laughed, and it was no good laughter, it was full of spite and menace. "What a prissy name … it is fitting to a groomed pet like you. What is it you do for a profession, Celeborn," he mocked, stretching out the name, "or shall I rather ask who?"

Celeborn rolled his eyes.

"By the Valar, you really are immature. You might have talents when it comes to robbing elderly females of their bonnets or babies of their rattles, but as far as insults are concerned, you are way below standards, my dear. Quite frankly, I am not impressed."

Celeborn had taken the other Elf by surprise with this statements, and he had to chuckle. Now that his eyes had gotten used to the darkness, he took a closer look at the prisoner.

Much to his surprise, he saw that the Elf was still very young – indeed, he doubted very much this one had even reached majority yet. Sharp features which spoke of hunger, green eyes with a dangerous spark, high cheekbones, and a long, lean body. A long, lean, very dirty body.

"I shall try to do better then the next time we meet. Now spit in the wind and leave me alone," the prisoner snorted, and there was an odd roughness to his voice. It was not at all like the soft, melodious voices Celeborn knew from his kin.

"I don't expect anything less. Your speech is bold for one as young as you are. How old are you, child?" Celeborn asked, and he was answered with an angry bark.

"I am no child! I am a warrior, and if I wasn't shackled to this bloody wall, I would prove it to you!"

"If you do not wish to be treated as a child, then do not behave like one. Again; how old are you?"

"Why would you want to know?" the prisoner growled.

"So I can determine if you are still young enough so I can give you the spanking you obviously need. Again, for the last time: How. Old. Are. You."

There was a moment of silence, then the other Elf grumbled: "I'm 70. Or 80. Who can tell. Nobody kept books on that."

Celeborn cocked his head. 70? By the Valar, this was a mere child. "You don't know your age? How come?"

"What are you – part of the punishment? Is this additional torture before I get hung?" the young Elf snapped. "If so, I prefer to be hanged right now, and spared your jabbering."

"I am most sorry to disappoint you, but your execution got cancelled. I have just bought you, and shall take you with me."

If he hadn't been shackled to the wall, the young Elf would have jumped up. "Bought me? You cannot buy me! Nobody can! I do not belong to anybody! Nobody can ever buy or sell me again!"

Celeborn was taken aback by the emotional outburst. "Sell you again? Pray tell - have you been sold before?"

There was no answer, and so Celeborn stepped closer to the young Elf, a horrible suspicion working its way into his mind. Was it possible? Surely this couldn't be …no man would dare to ...

Celeborn crouched down, and, ignoring the angry glares of the young one, pushed the shred of fabric which covered the left hip of the Elf away.

And really, there it was – an ugly mark, a mark of shame: the mark of a slaver.

Anger rose in Celeborn, cold, raging anger. Men – who else but men would sell their own or any other kind for profit! And he was expected to risk his neck for this breed, which had treated one of his kin like livestock? Ai, next time Gil-galad asked for his assistance, he'd give him a good lecture on the 2357 good reasons why Middle Earth could only profit from mankind's disappearance from the face of Arda!

Reason number one was sitting in front of him, and despite the dirt Celeborn could clearly see the youth was blushing with embarrassment.

"Tell me the truth, young one. What has happened?"

For a long moment, the young Elf only eyed him, trying to make up his mind. Celeborn knew he was being evaluated, and didn't push the subject.

Finally, the other turned his head away.

"Our village was plundered by Orcs. I was little. Almost everybody died. When they were gone, soldiers came. They took with them those of us who were left, and sold us for three barrels of wine to a slaver. I was bought by a blacksmith and was made to work for him, then for his son when he died, but I didn't like it, and when he forgot to lock my chains one night two months ago, I escaped."

Celeborn imagined a frightened Elven child who had lost his parents, forced to work in a blacksmith's workshop, chained up. The lecture he intended to give to Gil-galad was increasing to epic proportions.

"You have done well to escape, penneth. You have done wrong, however, by making a living as a thief. And you have severely injured two guards of this kingdom. Once we are back home, you and I shall have a more in-depth discussion about the do's and don'ts of our kin, but for now, we must make haste to leave this place."

The young Elf looked up at him again.

"Leave? Where to? And what are your intentions? If you try anything, I cut your throat!"

Celeborn laughed.

"My intentions are honorable, penneth, do not worry about that. But you are a wildling in need of domestication, and Lothlórien is just the place for your education."

The other's eyes grew big like saucers.

"Lothlórien? It really exists?"

"It does," said Celeborn, while he fumbled with the key on the locks of the prisoner's shackles, "as a matter of fact, I am the ruler of the Golden Wood. Nice job, good people to work with, a little low on the payment and I didn't have holidays for about 2500 years, but I am quite happy with the ways things are. And just in case you should plan to behave in any other way than your best, I shall throw you personally in the river and hang you on a line by your ears to dry. This, if I may add, is less cruel than what my dear wife would do to you, for she wields a mean rolling bin."

The young one snorted.

"A Lord you are, ah. And now you expect me to obey you, right? And I must show you everlasting gratitude for my 'rescue'? Well heed this: I don't obey anybody!"

He spat on the floor.

Celeborn sighed. "You really are a child, mellon."

With a 'click', the shackles sprang open, and the young Elf dropped his arms with a moan of relief. He stretched his arms, then rubbed his wrists, which had become raw from the shackles.

Celeborn wanted to say something, but before he got a chance, the young Elf attacked him.

Though Celeborn was impressed by the strength the obviously malnourished young body still possessed, he was no match for the Elven lord, who was an experienced warrior, and as he had no time left to waste on childish tantrums, he knocked the young Elf out with a hard hit. The young one dropped to the floor, slumped like a rag-doll.

Celeborn threw the bundle of skin and bones over his shoulder as if he was a sack of flour. Then he hastily made his way through the corridors and out of the backdoor, disappearing in the night like a thief.

* * *

The sun stood high in the sky already when the young Elf woke up. His head hurt, he was thirsty, not to talk about starving, and he felt sick. When he came to awareness, he found himself sitting on a horse, in front of somebody who held him around the waist in an iron grip. Slowly, he remembered the events of the previous night, and started to squirm, but the one holding him wouldn't have any of it.

"Stop being a pain, penneth, and stay put. You are a special delivery for the Golden Wood, and if you don't behave, I shall wrap you up and tie you with a red bow."

The young Elf ceased his struggle, realizing it was a waste of energy, and growled; "Stop calling me names."

"What names?" Celeborn asked, and tightened his hold on the young one, just in case.

"Penn something."

"Ai, you mean 'penneth' – it is no insult, it only means 'young one' in my language. In our language," Celeborn emphasized, and he smiled when the young Elf repeated "penneth" three times.

"You could tell me your name, mellon – which means 'friend', by the way."

"Here it means 'melon', and we are not friends. I don't have any friends," the young Elf spat.

"You are right in not having any friends – better wait for the right ones to come along rather than chose the wrong lot."

The young Elf wanted to say something, but changed his mind, so he only growled, and again, Celeborn wondered about the odd voice. Now, with the other Elf sitting in front of him, he had a good view at his traveling companion, and noticed faded scars which ran all around the neck.

"What has happened to your neck, not-mellon-nîn – were you injured?"

For a moment, there was no answer, then a growl again.

"Neck chain. From the blacksmith. He welded it too close first time round. That's why my voice is so strange."

‘That's it,’ Celeborn thought, ‘I shall not lecture Gil-galad, I shall make him eat my list of reasons why men are a pain.’

"Your voice is not strange,” he finally said, after swallowing the bile which had risen. "It is different. It makes you stand out, and I bet it holds a special attraction for the ladies."

The young one growled again, and for the first time, Celeborn heard something like merriment out of the sound.

"So, now that we have settled that we are not friends, will you tell me your name, or shall I call you 'pumpkin' for the rest of our journey?"

The young one winced. "I can't remember my name. But everybody calls me Orophin."

"So then, young master Orophin, I think it is time for a rest and some food."

 

* * *

They rode off the path, and finally came to a halt by a small pond.

"We have water, and I have provisions. Now all we need is a fire."

Celeborn looked at Orophin expectantly, and the battle between ‘staying’ and ‘flight’ was obvious on his face. In the end, the sight of lembas, dried meat and fruit made him collect firewood rather than miles, and within an hour, they sat peacefully around a fire, sharing a rabbit Celeborn had caught.

The Elven lord ate with all the grace of his kin, while Orophin slung the food down like a wild animal. There was, indeed, something feral about him, and he reminded Celeborn of a huge wildcat. Purring one second, tearing your throat out the next.

Celeborn was kind, but he was also sly. Like a wild dog could be tamed with a juicy bone, this starving wild child could be calmed with food. A full belly was less likely to complain, and by the Valar, this one would need all the food he could get.

When the last apple had vanished, Orophin dropped in the grass. Celeborn got up, went to his horse and started to rummage through his saddle bags. He finally found what he had been looking for, and threw a bar of soap to the young Elf.

"We are starting your education right now, Orophin. Lesson number one: Elves are always clean. No matter the circumstances, we always look neat."

Orophin propped up on his elbows, and glared at Celeborn. "And why is this so?"

"Because we are prissy and vain. And because it annoys Men. And because we like it this way. Up, up, the bath is waiting."

After a moment of contemplation, Orophin grabbed the soap and went down to the river, muttering curses in Westron, throwing his ragged clothes carelessly aside, and finally stepped gingerly into the cold water.

Celeborn kept an eye on him without intruding upon his private sphere, and collected some of his spare clothing for the young Elf.

"I am leaving a tunic and a pair of breeches for you here, Orophin", he called out over the water. Orophin's head bobbed up, he didn't comment, but he had heard him. The youth dived under water, and soon, splashing and the scrubbing of soap on skin could be heard.

After a while, Orophin emerged from the river, looking for all the world like a drowned rat. He shook his head in a very animal-like manner, his hair, now recognizable as of a colour similar to Celeborn's, was splashing water drops in all directions.

He quickly slipped into the breeches, fiddled around with the tunic, put on his boots. If it hadn't been for his ridiculous haircut, he'd almost look like an Elf, Celeborn mused.

"We must leave now. I want to be some place safe before night falls. There are too many Orcs around to risk camping in the woods."

"I'm not afraid of Orcs", Orophin muttered.

"But I am, and you better start to learn to fear them, too – the fearless tend to be careless and therefore dead pretty fast."

They collected their gear, and when everything was stored away, Celeborn got on his horse. He reached out to Orophin, who grabbed the offered hand without a second thought, letting him be pulled on the saddle and settling in front of the Elven lord again.

For a while, they rode in silence, then Orophin turned around, glaring at Celeborn's braids, tugging on one.

"You look like a girl," he snorted.

"You are the first to notice, I always thought I'd hidden my feminine side well…"

"Braids are for girls,” said Orophin.

"Braids are signs of honour. You have to deserve the right to wear them. The first time you will get them is when you come of majority. Later in life, the style of your braids will tell your kin of your rank and achievements."

"And that's why you wear them? To show off with your achievements?"

Celeborn grinned. "No – I wear them so people can admire my pretty ears."

"This is silly."

"Of course it is. We are Elves – we are silly. The faster you get used to it, the better."

* * *

By the evening of the next day, Celeborn and Orophin reached the border of Lothlórien. The youth still wasn't sure what to think of this whole matter – he had spent all his life among Men. The memories of his childhood had faded long ago, and though the language of the Elves had a familiar touch to it, he didn't understand a word.

The only thing which reminded him that he was an Elf was his ears, which were leaf-like and ended in delicate points. Orophin kept his hair always long enough to cover them to avoid insulting comments, and it was intriguing to travel with somebody who so proudly showcased this specific trademark.

Orophin still didn't trust Celeborn. True, he had treated him kindly so far, had given him food and not asked for anything in return – yet. Those two guards had offered him a meal in exchange for some services Orophin wasn't willing to provide. They had thought the youth to be easy prey and had to learn a very painful lesson. Orophin didn't regret at all that he had hurt them with a dagger – as a matter of fact, he only regretted he hadn't killed them.

For now, the situation seemed to be safe, though. He was being treated well, he got food and water and he would get to see the Golden Wood, a place of beauty and light he had heard of when listening to the fairy tales the blacksmith's wife had read to her children, and later, her grandchildren.

Why they kept him chained in the workshop when they praised Elves so highly was one of the things Orophin had often wondered about. They didn't treat him too badly, after all he was a valuable possession which they cared not to damage, but still, it was a contradiction.

After all the myths Orophin had heard about the Golden Wood, he was more than a little surprised to learn that the Lord of this miracle realm was playing cards in the Golden Hind's backroom, drank the hardest warriors under the table and knew a lot of decidedly indecent tavern songs.

Elves, he decided, were highly overrated.

* * *

Orophin felt the magic of the Golden Wood immediately. A feeling of peace and security settled over his troubled mind like a warm blanket, and he relaxed against Celeborn. There was a soothing, calming presence in his mind, like a lovely woman voice singing a lullaby. Celeborn smiled when he felt the youth, who had been taut like a bowstring all through the journey, finally relax.

"Mae govannen, Lord Celeborn. It is a very joyful day that we see your safe return."

Orophin stared wide-eyed at the five guardians who stood on the path ahead of them, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. He was impressed – sure, they also had the ridiculous long hair, and those naff braids. But from the way they held their bows, and the expression on their faces, he could tell right away that these were warriors, and of a kind one did not wish to come to any form of disagreement with.

"Mae govannen, Amrun," Celeborn returned the greeting. Changing to Westron he added, "It has been a troublesome stay this time, but look: I brought a souvenir with me."

Orophin snorted, and glared daggers at the Elf in front of him who broke out in laughter. He turned to Celeborn, and asked; "Who are they? And who is this oaf?"

The lord snickered.

"These, my dear Orophin, are some of the famous Galadhrim – the guards of the Golden Wood. They are the best bowmen you can find, loyal and almost fearless, and Amrun here is one of their captains. Ai, Amrun, come on over here, please."

The captain moved forward, and stood soon beside the horse of his lord, taking its reigns. He looked at Orophin, and frowned when he saw the state the youth was in, but felt it was not in his place to ask who the stranger was.

"Amrun – this is young master Orophin. For reasons that do not matter here, he was released into my care, and now I release him in yours. I expect you to teach him our language, our customs, and how to use fork and knife during luncheon. The basics on personal hygiene couldn't do much harm, either. Oh yes, he might like to learn how to use bow and arrows, too, and a handkerchief rather than his sleeve. Make sure he gets a good-night kiss every evening, he seems a little starved for attention. And be careful; he spits, scratches, and if you are not careful, he might even bite your ankle."

Orophin, who had listened to Celeborn's speech with increasing anger, opened his mouth for a rude reply, but he got interrupted by Amrun, who laughed and said; "Ai, my lord, this surely sounds like the kind of Elfling my wife will like! Pray tell – how many more of the little fosterlings do you plan to grace me with? I'm only asking so I can start to build a bigger talan."

"Ah, you know what I'm like, I can't leave any stray behind. How are the other two doing, by the way? It has been quite a while since I last saw them."

Amrun smiled. "They are doing fine, my lord. Haldir is teething right now, and keeps us up all night, but this aside, he has recovered very well, and has almost reached normal weight."

Celeborn winced. "By the Valar, don't mention teething. My daughter almost drove me out of my mind - for three months she was screaming without a break. That such a little creature could produce such a noise - amazing! May the Valar have mercy on her future husband!"

Everybody laughed save Orophin, who couldn't really see the humor in a discussion about baby issues.

"And the other one that Gil-galad found?"

"He still refuses to speak. My wife called him Rúmil, and he didn't object. I got him a dog, and now he's mostly out in the wood with the beast. They've become close friends. We saw him smile for the first time last month, though. It will take a lot of time and patience, but I think we'll get through to him eventually."

Celeborn nodded.

"You have my gratitude, Amrun, both you and your wife. Not many would have done what you did, and by free will."

Amrun bowed.

"You are too kind, my lord, but it is no issue - we couldn't love them more if they were our own children."

Orophin was confused, the magical atmosphere of the Golden Wood made him a little drowsy, and so he didn't put up much of a fight when Celeborn told him to get off the horse and follow Amrun.

"Penneth, I will soon come and see how you fare. Amrun is a friend of old, his wife is a darling, and they care for two orphans already. For the time being, I suggest you stay with them. Try not to be too much of a nuisance, don't spit on the carpet and please – stop biting your finger nails."

With that, Celeborn said farewell to his guards. He rode off towards the royal Talan, where Galadriel was already waiting for him, eager to hear news from the country beyond the border.

* * *

Amrun and Orophin walked for a good hour in silence. The youth looked at his new guardian with curiosity and suspicion alike. He seemed to be kind, but who knew – maybe they would force him to work again? Well, at least he didn't look like somebody who would chain him up, so in any case, his life had improved, and Orophin postponed plans for an escape for the time being. He could still take flight if the situation got fishy.

When they finally stopped under a large tree, Amrun addressed the youth.

"This is your new home, Orophin. You are welcome to stay here as long as you want, our talan is your talan. But I expect you to treat my family with the same respect they will treat you."

Orophin frowned. Respect? Now, this was a first. "Why should they respect me?"

Amrun gave him a friendly and patient smile.

"Because you are a member of the family now, Orophin."

The youth didn't answer, but looked around, confused.

"Where is your house?" he asked, because there was nothing but trees and bushes here.

"There!" Amrun grinned, pointing above him.

Orophin looked up at the green roof of the forest, and indeed – there was a house up there. Mouth wide open, he stared at this wonder.

"I take it you have never seen a talan?"

Orophin just shook his head, and his stomach fluttered at the thought of climbing up this tree.

"Do not worry, penneth – there are stairs."

And indeed – there were. So cleverly attached to the tree they were almost invisible, without a doubt a measure of security.

"You go up first, Orophin, I shall make sure you won't fall off a tree on your first day."

"I don't fall off trees. Do you think I'm stupid?" Orophin growled. He started to climb the stairs, which were swinging slightly in the wind, carefully putting one foot before the other.

"Stupid? No. But unskilled."

With that, Amrun followed Orophin, and after five minutes, they reached a house on a large platform. An artfully carved door opened, and a woman stepped out. Her hair was long, it went down to her waist, and it was of a beautiful dark-golden colour. She held a sleeping baby in her arms, and gave the youth a friendly smile.

"Amrun! Why didn't you tell me that you would bring a guest? If I'd known, I could have prepared something special!"

"Ah, your food is always splendid, love, do not fret. This is Orophin, Mya. He will stay with us – Lord Celeborn has brought him along from his trip. He doesn't speak our language yet, so for the time being, we shall speak Westron."

The woman nodded, and gave Orophin a radiant smile which warmed his heart - he liked her right away.

"You are more than welcome, Orophin. Please come in and make yourself at home."

A dog started to bark like crazy in one of the rooms.

"By the Valar - what is this beast up to! Please hold Haldir while I make sure the dog won't steal the dinner, Orophin."

With that, she put the baby in the arms of a completely baffled Orophin, and rushed through the door back inside the talan. Orophin stared down at the baby in horror, especially when the little one awoke and started to scream when he noticed that he was not held by his foster mother anymore.

Amrun howled with laughter when he saw the terrified face of the youth. "Ai - that's my wife, isn't she just wonderful! And how good to see that you already formed a bond of brotherly love with little Haldir."

"Amrun ..." Orophin stuttered.

"Yes, penneth?"

"He leaks."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rúmil gets in a dangerous situation - can Orophin save the Elfling? And does he want to do it? Plus a bit of Erestor/Glorfindel fluffiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"Why is he doing this?"

Amrun stood in front of the chest Orophin kept his few personal belongings in, rubbed his chin and stared down at what he had called "Orophin's hamper" some moments ago - clothes, two loafs of Lembas so hard you could hit nails into walls with them, some dried meat, a couple of shrivelled apples, but also a dagger, two bottles of Miruvor, two of Amrun's wooden hair clasps and, oddest item of all, one of Haldir's soft toys.

The captain of the Galadhrim raked his hands through his hair, obviously at loss what to make out of this. His wife put her hand on his arm in a calming gesture.

"Amrun - please don't be angry, this is all so new to him."

"You also said so when he set the rug in the kitchen on fire."

"He can't voice his problems."

"This was your argument when he stole Celeborn's horse."

"Amrun ..."

The Galadhrim patted her hand, giving her a sad smile.

"I am sorry, Mya - I know the youth has problems, and I was well aware that it would not be an easy task to get him back on the right track, but I can't tolerate that his thieving continues. He steals, he lies, and he shows none of us any respect. For the Valar's sake, he even spat at Lady Galadriel!

He's been with us now for two months, and there is not the tiniest sign of improvement, and the Valar know we have tried all we could to make him feel welcome and loved."

She sighed, taking his hand in hers.

"My love - I think he was carrying these things together because he still expects somebody comes along and takes everything he has away again. He hoards the food because he fears we might not feed him one day."

"This is all well, Mya, but he must learn that he cannot just take what he wants. Elves do not steal."

She slung her arms around her husband's middle, hugged him tight and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Beloved - do you not deem it interesting that he stole your hair clasps, though he has short hair, and a soft, cuddly toy? "

Amrun muttered something, then he turned around and embraced his wife.

"You are too good for these woods, Mya. So you think I should not confront him about this, I reckon?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. I hope the day will come when he trusts us enough to ask when he needs something."

Amrun nodded, and promised to let the matter rest for the time being. But secretly, he wondered if his willingness to take up Orophin as a fosterling had not been one big huge mistake.

* * *

Orophin couldn't decide who annoyed him more: Lord Celeborn and his sarcasm, Amrun and his lectures or Haldir and his dummy. But no, it was none of them, he mused, while he strolled through the wood, hitting bushes to the left and right with a stick, the most annoying one of them all was Rúmil, no doubt.

The Elfling followed him around like a puppy day in, day out, but never talked, only stared. For a while, Orophin had tried to drive him away with rude words, a tactic which didn't work. Then he had thrown stones, but Rúmil was quick and ducked in time. Now he tended to ignore the little pest, but by all he held dear, what wouldn't he give to get rid of the dimwit! Even Haldir's crying was better than Rúmil's emotionless staring.

Didn't Mya and Amrun see that the younger Elf was a complete idiot? If it had been up to him, Rúmil would have been sent back to where he had come from, or left somewhere in the wood; Orophin didn't really care just as long as he would be somewhere far, far away from him.

"And here we go again..." Orophin growled, when he felt the well-known and much-loathed presence of his younger 'brother'. He turned around, and really, there he stood, staring and gawping, and as Orophin was in an exceptionally bad mood today, he thought it would be a most splendid idea to make the little one feel miserable, too.

"What do you want, you dimwit!" he called, and threw a pinecone after Rúmil. Alas, his aim was bad, and the other simply stepped aside.

"Get lost - I don't want you around here! Go home to your 'nana' and leave me alone, you cry-baby!"

Again, as expected, there was no reaction from Rúmil, he just stood there and stared. From Mya he knew that Rúmil hadn't spoken a single word since his arrival in Lothlórien.

"Traumatized" she called it. "Idiot" was a more fitting description, Orophin thought, but he was clever enough to keep his mouth shut when Mya was around, for although he would not have have admitted it even under threat of death, he liked her very much, and didn't want to see her upset with him.

Fine. Insults didn't work, but maybe he could scare Rúmil off? Orophin turned around, and stomped over to the tree where Rúmil stood. At least he didn't have his ugly, stinking dog with him today, thanks to whatever deity they had here for small favours.

"You - I'm talking to you! Spit in the wind! Get lost! I don't like you!"

No reaction.

"And your 'nana' and your 'ada' don't like you, either! In fact nobody likes you!"

It was with no small satisfaction that Orophin registered the tears that began to pool in the pale blue eyes of the young one. Ha! It was working! One last blow, and he would be rid of the pest.

"If they are fed up with you, they will lead you into the woods and leave you there, and you know what will happen? Every Orc in the neighbourhood will come along for a fine meal!"

Orophin made a big show imitating an Orc, growling and grinding his teeth, and Rúmil was really crying now, his face crunched up in terror, and he turned around and ran like Orophin's imaginary Orcs were already on his heels.

Orophin grinned, and turned to walk back home. But with ever step, his delight got smaller, and the voice of his conscience began to nag. When he finally arrived at the Talan, he only saw the Elfling's terrified face in front of his eyes, and he wished he hadn't been so harsh with him, that he had left it at throwing pinecones. Ah well, Orophin thought, he will survive it.

He hasted up the stairs to the Talan, looking forward to having lunch without his annoying 'brother' for once.

* * *

Orophin's wish was obviously granted - Rúmil was not home for lunch. He was not home for the afternoon tea, either, and when dinner approached, Mya was getting worried.

"Have you seen Rúmil anywhere, Orophin? It's not like him to stay out so long."

Orophin only shrugged.

"What do I know. I'm not his babysitter."

Mya sighed, and turned to prepare dinner.

But dinner came, and still Rúmil wasn't home.

"I will go and look for him, my love", Amrun finally said, "do not worry, I guess he was playing with the dog again and forgot about time."

His wife shook her head.

"No, the dog is here - in his room, actually. I feel it - something bad has happened."

She sat in the rocking chair she had gotten from her mother on her wedding, held Haldir and gave him the bottle. The little one was blissfully unaware of his family's worries - if you're only five months old, you don't care much for things which are not connected to eating and sleeping. Right now, Haldir's entire focus was on the bottle with the sweet milk, and he was cross-eyed with pleasure, making cooing noises and complaining with a groan every time the teat slipped from his mouth.

"The little dimwit will be back soon, no reason to get your apron twisted in a knot," Orophin grumbled, as if he was angry with Rúmil, but in truth, he was angry with himself. He knew very well that he had pushed the boat out too far, but there was nothing he could do now, was there?

He chased a pea over the plate with his fork, and muttered something about idiot Elflings.

"Orophin. When was the last time that you saw Rúmil?" Amrun asked, regarding the young Elf with growing suspicion. There was something odd about Orophin's behaviour - more odd than usual - and he couldn't fight the feeling that the young one knew more about Rúmil's whereabouts than he admitted.

Orophin shrugged, didn't look up and kept on chasing the pea.

"Don't know. In the morning, I guess. I didn't take notes. Good riddance, I say."

Amrun hit his fist on the table, and the cutlery danced dangerously close to the edge.

"By the Valar, Orophin - my patience with you will come to an end very soon! We are worried that some ill might have befallen Rúmil, and if there is something you know, you better tell us NOW!"

Orophin swiped the plate with one quick move of his hand off the table, it broke into a thousand shards and the remains of the evening meal were scattered all over the floor.

"Leave me alone about the dimwit! What do I know! If it was up to me, the Orcs can have him for lunch, annoying little pest that he is!" he screamed, and kicked the chair through the room.

Amrun had gone completely pale.

"Did you tell him this?" he asked, shocked.

"YES! SO WHAT!" Orophin shouted, now losing his temper completely.

"He is an annoying, miserable dimwit, he gets on my nerves and I hope I will never have to see him again!"

Orophin had barely finished his sentence when Amrun grabbed him by the collar and shook him like a rag doll.

"You have no idea what you have done!" he hissed, shaking the surprised youngster. "You think you are the only one who had a hard life? Do you really think your own misery entitles you to be a selfish, egotistical brat? Tomorrow, I will return you to Lord Celeborn. I cannot bear to see you around this place anymore!"

With that, Amrun pushed Orophin away, and the youngster stumbled and fell to the floor. Amrun fixed the quiver to his back, grabbed for his bow and said to his wife: "I will alarm the guards. The Valar know where the little one is hiding. I hope we will find him in time."

He gave his wife and Haldir a quick kiss, then he hasted out of the Talan, without wasting another word or look on Orophin.

Mya carried Haldir, who was now screaming at the top of his lungs, to her room, and put him back in his cradle. The baby calmed almost immediately, and she gave him his dummy to suck on. For a few moments, she stayed beside the cradle to be sure the baby was about to fall asleep, lovingly stroking his face and the fine, silvery hair, then she returned to Orophin, who still sat on the floor, confused, angry and shocked at the same time, and she knelt down beside him.

"Oh Orophin - why do you try so hard to push us away."

He didn't answer, just glared at her.

"You know - some of us carry our scars outside, visible for the entire world." She gently tracked the fading scars on Orophin's neck with her finger, and strangely enough, he didn't flinch away

"Others have scars on the inside. You can't see them, but they are there, and the scars of the soul hurt just as much as a blow you took from a sword."

Orophin fiddled with one of the carrots on the floor, and muttered: "I was only joking."

"No, Orophin - you weren't. I know you well enough by now to know that you were hurting Rúmil intentionally, just to make sure he couldn't come close to you. He likes you. He looks up to you - why do you consider this a bad thing?"

Surprised, Orophin looked up, and seeing the hurt in Mya's eyes made him feel even more like a miserable bastard.

"He likes me?"

"Of course he does. That's why he's following you around where ever you go."

She sat down beside the youngster, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"I will tell you the story of Rúmil as far as I know it. Maybe we should have told you earlier, so you could understand, but Amrun thought you had enough on your plate already.

Rúmil came to us after the guard of the High King ambushed a couple of Orcs outside of Lothlórien. Elrond Half-Elven - he is the Herald to the King, you must know, son of Eärendil and a fine and noble lord - led the guards, and they slaughtered all of the beasts. They found the little one tied and gagged under a tree - quite obviously, the Orcs had intended to devour him eventually. He was absolutely terrified, and he hasn't spoken a word ever since, so we don't know who he is or where he came from.

King Gil-galad and Lord Elrond brought him here, and we called him Rúmil. You think he's a 'dimwit' - but see, I think he doesn't speak because he is frightened he will have to tell what happened back there in the wood. And now you certainly understand why he reacted the way he did to your - joke."

Orophin hung his head in shame.

"I didn't know that. I am sorry. But Amrun is right, I'm no good. I will leave the Golden Wood - I can manage on my own." he whispered, and tried very hard not to cry. Only now, at the prospect of leaving this place, he realized how much this simple Talan and the people here had become home and family to him, and losing this seemed to be worse than living chained up in a blacksmith's workshop for fifty years.

Mya hugged the youngster, and her heart did a joyful skip when, for the first time, Orophin allowed such intimacy, and she pressed a light kiss on his short, ruffled hair.

"I don't want you to leave, Orophin, and Amrun doesn't want you to leave, either. He worries about Rúmil, and he is angry, but he will calm down."

She gently touched Orophin's chin with two fingers, and turned his face so she could look into his eyes.

"I love you very, very much, Orophin, you are bright, you are lovely, and most of all, I know that you have a good heart. Let us love you, îon-nîn, and maybe, one day, you can love us in return."

Orophin swallowed hard, and he allowed the hug which followed, even returned it.

"Mya - what is the meaning of 'îon-nîn'?" he finally asked.

"It means 'my son', Orophin."

The youngster froze in her embrace.

"And you know, Orophin, there is another word you need to learn."

"Yes?" asked a hesitant voice.

"It's a very important word, Orophin, and I want you to call me like this in future."

Orophin gulped. Maybe she wanted him to address her more formally from now on? Who cold blame her, after all the trouble he'd been.

"The word is 'nana', Orophin."

* * *

It was 4 o'clock in the morning, and still Amrun hadn't returned, nor had Rúmil. Mya had finally fallen into a restless slumber, but Orophin was awake and sitting on Rúmil's bed. Guilt was eating him up and he wished, oh how he wished he could take those evil words back. He could only think of the huge, terrified eyes and Rúmil's tears, and he felt like the most unworthy, most evil creature on the face of Arda.

Rúmil's dog, sensing that something was amiss, padded into room, sat beside him and rested his head on Orophin's knee, looking up expectantly at him, as if he tried to say: "And what are you going to do to bring my young master back? Sit here and watch the daisies grow?"

Orophin patted the dog, something he'd never done before, and the animal started to wag his tail. Despite his worries, Orophin had to smile. He remembered the dog he had sometimes fed some kitchen scraps back at the blacksmith's house, and suddenly, he had an idea.

"Dog - let's go for a walk, what do you think?"

The dog got all excited when he realized Orophin was talking to him and heading for the door, he understood the youngster's intent and ran ahead down the stairs, closely followed by Orophin, who stuffed Rúmil's toy rabbit, which lay discarded on the bed, in his pocket. It was a weird plan he had, but at least he had the wits to gird one of Amrun's swords before he left the Talan and headed out in the dark.

Once he arrived on the ground, Orophin crouched down beside the dog.

"Now listen, dog - your master is somewhere out there. And we need to find him. Do you understand?"

He took out the toy from his pocket and held it under the dog's nose to sniff. The dog barked, wagged his tail, and looked up to the young Elf, anxiously awaiting instructions.

"Go dog! Go find Rúmil!" Orophin ordered, and indeed, the dog didn't need to be asked twice; he darted into the shrubbery and Orophin had a hard time following him.

They fought their way through the bushes for what seemed like hours to the Elf, but the dog always waited for him to catch up, barking encouragingly.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," Orophin huffed. He was not a child of the wood, so he didn't know how to find his way through the bushes without being scratched or how to run through the wood without stumbling over dead wood or roots which stuck out from the ground.

Orophin had Elven hearing, Elven sight - but he didn't have any Elven skills, and so this march through the wood, which might have been an easy walk for Amrun or one of his guards, was a demanding and very exhausting task for the youngster.

Finally, the dog stopped dead in his tracks, and started to growl.

"What happened?" Orophin asked, "What did you hear?" and knelt down beside the animal, who showed his teeth, growled and stared out into the darkness, sniffing.

Orophin patted the dog, and tried to hear or see anything. Yes, there was some movement, out there somewhere.

He slowly, carefully crept closer, but where any Elf would have managed to walk on dry leaves without a sound, Orophin made as much noise as an Oliphant, so whatever - or whoever - was out there had been warned now of his approach, and Orophin took a tight grip on the hilt of the sword.

The further he walked, the louder the noises became - and his heart contracted painfully - Wargs! It was the panting and barking of Wargs, two at least, maybe more - and the most terrifying sound of all: the fearful crying of a child in panic!

"Rúmil!" Orophin shouted, and stormed forward, ignoring everything he had ever heard from Amrun on the subject of "how to approach an enemy without getting caught", for all that was driving him now was fear for Rúmil.

And there he was, clinging to a tree like a squirrel, and underneath him a pack of three Wargs who were howling, barking and snapping after his feet. So far, the little one had managed to stay high enough up on the tree so they couldn't catch him, but it was clear to see his strength had come to an end, he was slowly sliding down the trunk. It was only a matter of time before one of the beasts would catch his foot and tear him down.

"Hey, you ugly bastards! I am here!" Orophin shouted, completely ignoring that it was madness for one young, inexperienced Elf to face a warg, not to talk about THREE of them!

The beasts turned around, distracted from their unwilling dinner which was up in the tree, and they slowly started to approach Orophin. They were not stupid, these beasts, they tried to attack him from three sides at once, but Orophin possessed the determination of the desperate, and when the attack happened, he dealt out blows with his sword to the right and to the left, and how it came about, he didn't know, but the first Warg fell down, dead.

There was no time for him to cheer about this success, a terrible pain shot through his back when the second beast, taking use of the Elf's momentary distraction, attacked from behind and dug his claws into the Elf's back.

Orophin cried out and fell down, and he already felt the hot, stinking breath of the beast on his neck when an angry bark was heard, and the Warg let him go, trying to get rid of the unknown attacker.

Orophin quickly jumped to his feet, wincing at the pain in his back, but he was determined to ignore it.

It was the dog - the animal had attacked his enemy, and now Orophin quickly stabbed the Warg before he could harm his courageous little friend.

But despite this, the third Warg was not willing to let his prey escape, and this one was a an old, seasoned fighter, easily escaping the Elf's clumsy blows and attacking again and again, clearly sensing his victim was getting weaker, and weak he got, indeed. Orophin was no warrior, he didn't really know how to handle a sword which was heavy in his hand, but thanks to the many years of hard labour, his body possessed a strength far beyond that usually found in an Elf as young as him.

Despite all this, he knew he was losing, and he only hoped that Rúmil had been clever enough to use the fight and the distraction to flee. Orophin didn't care much for his own life, but strangely enough, he cared for the life of the little one, and when the animal started his last attack and ran towards him, he only thought: please, whatever god is in charge here, please keep Rúmil safe.

The Warg stopped his race just a few feet before Orophin, turned around with an angry bark, and glared at Rúmil who, against Orophin's hopes, hadn't run away, but started to throw stones at the beast. Orophin used this moment of the Warg's distraction to land a final, lethal blow. The animal howled, rolled around on the ground a few times, gave one last spasm - then he was dead.

Orophin tried to catch a breath, but his lungs seemed to refuse to work, his back was hurting horribly, and he felt that he was losing blood. A freezing weakness came over him, but he kept on walking toward the Elfling, who still stood there, looking at the cruel scenery with horror.

"Rúmil..." Orophin gasped, and dropped on his knees in front of the young one, crushing him in a tight embrace.

"I am so sorry," he sobbed, hugging the child to his chest, "I was so mean, and I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, I only wanted you to leave me alone."

Rúmil returned the hug with enthusiasm, and he, too, was crying. Orophin froze and kept still when he felt the small hand stroking his hair, and his heart was filling with a feeling of protectiveness for the young one, and with protectiveness came affection, and with affection came love. It was the first time in his life Orophin felt the power of these emotions, he was overwhelmed, and he feared his heart couldn't take this rush, but it did, and he vowed he would always, always look after Rúmil and make sure nobody would ever hurt him.

"They ate my brother." the child whispered, his face hidden in Orophin's neck, but he understood well Rúmil wasn't talking about the Wargs, and he shuddered. He could only imagine what the young one had gone through, and considering all this, who could blame the Elfling for not wanting to speak about it.

"Everything will be good now, Rúmil", he tried to calm down the sobbing child, not knowing how to comfort him, due to lack of experience, "the Orcs are dead, and the Wargs are dead, and the blacksmith is dead, but you and me, we are alive, and this is all that counts."

Though he was in pain, he managed to get on his feet, picked up the child and carried him back to the Talan, followed by the dog who carried the ear of a Warg like a trophy.

* * *

To the innocent bystander, it was the cry of an owl, but Orophin didn't even turn around from his task at hand, and simply called over his shoulder: "Come in, Rúmil!"

And in fact, shortly after, his brother stepped into the Talan. He still wore his uniform, the traditional black and grey of the Galadhrim, but he carried neither his bow nor a quiver, so he must have gone to his own home first to drop his weapons.

"So – busy packing?" Rúmil asked, helping himself to one of the apples in a bowl on the side table and taking a hearty bite. Orophin, who was folding his clothes methodically to put them in his saddle bags, shrugged.

"So it seems. I have to leave early in the morrow and want to have everything ready in time."

Rúmil took another bite, and for a while, the only sound heard in the Talan was his chewing.

"Would it be possible for you to eat without sounding like a Warg on heat, Rúmil?" Orophin finally asked tartly, but his younger brother only chuckled.

"My, are we in a splendid mood again today. Pray tell, dear brother – when can I expect your return?"

Orophin shrugged. "I don't know how long my services will be needed. Could be months, could be years."

"Ah yes, I remember – 'Orophin, I told my daughter that you will look after my grandsons for a couple of weeks', and when did we see dear Orophin again? Ten years later. You know, for somebody who so carefully clings to his independence, you let yourself get ordered around very easily."

Orophin tried to ignore Rúmil's sarcasm.

"Better not let the lady hear such fresh speech, or you will count Orcs in Mirkwood for the next millennia."

"Phff, and even so – still better spending a thousand years in the company of our slightly undomesticated cousins in Mirkwood than sitting for ten years in Rivendell. I for one am glad we are back. The place holds no attraction for me."

With that, Rúmil took another bite, and Orophin finally turned around, facing his brother.

"Now really – no attraction, yes? So how come you got yourself a bloody nose when you tried your luck with Erestor?"

Rúmil frowned, and touched his nose. The small bump which had remained after the healer had fixed the bone could still be felt, and secretly, he wished all the punishments of Mordor down on the head of Lord Glorfindel, the damnable territorial alpha-elf.

"Ai, he was worth a try. Though, looking back, I am glad it didn't work out – I feel much too young to be a father already."

"Now stop it, Rúmil. This is not even remotely funny."

"Indeed – but you know what is funny?"

Rúmil threw the core of the apple out of the window, and stepped behind his brother.

"The really funny thing is that you, who for the last 4000 years have told me on every suitable and unsuitable occasion how very much you despise humans, are now heading off to spend another decade or so in the illustrious company of Lord Elrond Half-Elven and his two spoilt brats, and all this just because you can't say 'no' to Lord Celeborn. Did he even ask you, by the way? Or were you ordered? Have you already forgotten that your last stay as a guardian in Rivendell was the result of a deal which got him a new steed, and Elrond your services?"

"I have not forgotten. But I was treated well, and I liked the Elflings," Orophin commented, trying hard to keep calm.

"Ah yes, you liked the Elflings. How adorable. Orophin and his little rascals. And you still like them, don't you? Or at least one of them."

Orophin had absolutely no wish to discuss this matter with Rúmil, who obviously was in one of his most annoying moods, so he shrugged and returned to packing his saddle bags.

But Rúmil had no intention of letting the case rest yet.

"Well, I wish you a pleasant journey. Enjoy your stay. At least one of us knows where he belongs."

Ah.

"You are angry because I'm leaving you behind, is that it?" Orophin said, not turning around.

"Angry? Why should I be angry? It is something I have come to expect - first ada and nana left for Valinor, then Haldir decided for the Valar know what reasons to bind with this half-wild - being, and now you leave as well, making a fool out of yourself by mooning over fair young Elladan, whose father - not to talk about our lord and lady - would rather send him off to Mordor than let him get involved with a simple Galadhrim of questionable ancestry."

Orophin angrily threw the tunic he held on the bed, turned and grabbed his brother by the shoulders.

"I am not of questionable ancestry! Nor are you! Stop this nonsense, Rúmil! What has come over you?"

Rúmil shrugged free, and Orophin's heart contracted painfully when he saw the tears in his younger brother's eyes.

"Go! Just leave! You all leave! And I'm left behind! And you promised never to leave me alone! You promised! You promised! Promised!" Rúmil pushed Orophin at every word, but despite millennia of training, he had never managed to outgrow Orophin in height or strength, so his older brother stood unmoved

Orophin drew Rúmil in a hug, and after an initial fierce struggle, the younger Elf finally gave into the embrace. Orophin gently stroked his hair, murmuring soothing words.

"Rúmil - you will never be alone. And I will never leave you. Haldir had to follow his heart, and so do I, and one day, you will go where your own heart leads you, but nothing," and he took his brothers face between his large hands, "nothing will ever sever the special bond we three share, Rúmil. Nothing. And nobody. You will always be my brother, and I will always love you."

Rúmil, ashamed of both his outburst and his tears, stepped out of the embrace, fiddling with his belt.

"I'm sorry, Orophin. I don't know why I said what I said. I'm sorry about ... you know, you and Elladan and everything. I just ... don't want to be left behind."

"Well then - why not accompany me on my journey?" Orophin said, and smiled at his younger brother.

"How - accompany you?" Rúmil said, looking at him with a rather confused expression.

"Well, I made your schedule, you've worked for six weeks, now you've got six weeks off. Why not come with me to Imladris, spend some time there rather than sitting here alone?"

"You - you think I would be welcome?"

Orophin grinned.

"Well, I can't guarantee for Lord Glorfindel, to be honest, but as long as you don't try to kiss Erestor again, he should be fine. I'm sure Haldir would be over the moon to see you again, not to talk about Bramble. You are her favourite uncle, after all."

"Is this why she scratched me?"

"Yes. She only scratches those she loves. The ones she doesn't like she bites."

* * *

Estorel was crying.

It was 4am, and he had also cried at 2.30am, 1.17am, 11.43 pm and many, many times before.

As a matter of fact, Glorfindel couldn't remember a time when his son had NOT been crying, and now he was torn between the wish to hide his head under his pillow and ignore his vocal offspring, or getting up to see what was wrong this time, but in the end, he groaned and rolled out of bed.

Erestor watched him through half-lidded eyes, stifling a yawn.

"How sweet of you to get up," he murmured, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

"Next time it's your turn", Fin growled, but Erestor was already asleep again.

With a last, not overly friendly look at the dark-haired Elf, Fin opened the door which lead to the adjoining nursery, and lit a candle.

"There, there …" he soothed the crying Elfling, picked him up and started to carry him around. Estorel almost immediately finished the concert, and started to hiccup.

"So, that's much better. You don't want your ada to wake up again, do you? You know," he said to the Elfling, while he carefully sat down in the rocking chair by the window, "if your ada doesn't get enough sleep, he is very, very cranky in the morning. And I will be the one who has to suffer his moods."

Estorel continued to hiccup, which was hopefully a sign of agreement, and Glorfindel started to gently rock the little one, humming a lullaby:

 

"The tavern is closed, the landlord is sleeping,  
Eärendil travels, Ithil is peeping  
Even Lord Elrond is gently snoring,  
Fall asleep, Estorel, it's getting boring."

 

This impromptu poetry would most probably not make it into history books, but it seemed to work, for the tiny Elfling closed his eyes, and soon enough, he was deeply asleep again.

Fin released a sigh of relief. At least no nappies to change, the Valar be praised, for Estorel went through nappies and his parent's nerves at an alarming speed.

Fin looked down adoringly at his son, so small but already perfect, the small hand balled in a fist, holding tight to Glorfindel's index finger, and Fin felt an all-consuming happiness. He had feared that the arrival of the infant would wake painful memories of his lost son, but strangely enough, this hadn't happened – on the contrary, he felt like the wound in his heart had finally been closed and stopped hurting, and like so often lately, he got a little tearful, looking down at his beautiful son, and pressed a reverent kiss on the tiny, pointed ear.

Carefully, so as not to awake the Elfling, Fin walked over to the cradle, and laid Estorel down, covering him with a blanket, putting the hobbit-doll within reach of the tiny hands and finally pressing another gentle kiss on the baby's brow. Estorel hiccupped one last time, then he was quiet, and Fin hushed back into their chamber.

Erestor was still asleep, and with quite some worry, Fin took in the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. Sure, the birth had been difficult – and who would know this better than Fin, who had to hurry out of the cave twice to throw up – but he had hoped Erestor would regain his strength and cheerfulness soon.

Alas, the dark-haired Elf had stayed weak and every so often, he just sat in the rocking chair, holding the baby and staring out of the window. He had not talked to Glorfindel about what he called a "strange dream", but if Erestor had really been in the Halls of Waiting, Glorfindel could well imagine that he might have encountered some things there which had shattered his peace of mind.

He slipped his arm around Erestor's waist and pulled him closer, finding comfort in the familiar scent and the softness of his hair. Erestor stirred, and turned around, facing his mate.

"You are a truly magnificent father, Fin." he murmured, and kissed Glorfindel gently.

"I wonder if you know how happy you've made me", Fin whispered. Erestor snuggled closer up to him, his warm hands gently moving over the warrior's back.

"You have made me very happy, Fin," he said, kissing Glorfindel's neck, "and I wonder if you could make me even happier now..." he added with a cheeky grin, then ran his tongue up the ridge of Fin's ear and nibbled on the delicately pointed tip.

"Maybe", Fin chuckled, and sent his hands on an expedition to the Promised Land, "are you sure you're up for so much happiness?"

"More than up, my dear", Erestor purred, flipped Fin over and straddled him.

"Mmmmm ... indeed, more than up", Fin gasped, but of course, the very moment Erestor bent down to kiss him, Estorel started to scream again.

Fin rolled his eyes, then he tried to get up, but Erestor grabbed his arms and pinned him down to the bed.

"You stay here, Fin. We can't run every time he cries, or he will never sleep through."

"But maybe he needs something ..." Fin began, the pitiful crying of his son ringing in his ears.

"I need something, too," Erestor stated, attacking without mercy that specific spot behind Fin's ear which always produced amazing results, "and I need it NOW!"

"You are a wicked Elf." Fin gasped between two kisses, "where does this new masterful way of yours come from?"

"Ai", Erestor grinned, and he stretched his body out, covering Fin. His hand started to stroke slowly up Glorfindel's inner thigh, and the warrior gasped.

"I sure learned a thing or two from the way Lady Firinwë was ordering poor Elrond around," Erestor purred, and Fin chuckled.

"Will you paint my study in pastels, too?"

Erestor gave a short lick to Fin's right nipple. Glorfindel squirmed, especially when Erestor's hand came to rest on the part of his anatomy which was seriously craving for some tender, loving care by now.

"No," Erestor said, gently caressing his lover, "but I have every intention of dusting your thimbles!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orophin returns to Rivendell to become guardian to Estorel, and Elladan is lost. Galadriel interferes and makes a fateful decision...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"… and as this year's lettuce harvest has been severely reduced due to the overpopulation of land snails, I suggest that …"

If there was one thing that Lord Elrond had learned over the course of the millennia, it was the ability to feign interest when he was bored. It was the basic skill of any diplomat. And right now he was bored, by the Valar – Erestor was a brilliant advisor, and, if Glorfindel could be trusted in this matter, blessed with many other talents, but he was the speaker out of Mordor. And while Elrond's face carried an interested and alert expression, he had zoned out half an hour ago, when Erestor had gone into a lengthy and detailed description of the mating rites of land snails.

A most important subject, no doubt.

So, while Erestor lectured on snails, lettuce-farming Hobbits and import taxes, Elrond secretly mused upon the members of his council. Some were friends, some were family, and some were opponents. But he felt responsible for all of them, and now a wonderful opportunity presented itself for some contemplation.

First came Glorfindel, his trusted friend. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, Estorel must have given an extended concert last night, including encores, and Elrond had a hard time holding back a chuckle. The picture of the mighty and feared Balrog-slayer changing nappies was just too hilarious to stay serious.

Glorfindel sat relaxed, head propped on one hand, and he was staring at Erestor with an expression one could only describe as 'doting'. Elrond doubted that the warrior was paying any attention to Erestor's words; it was far more probable that his thoughts were occupied with activities not to be discussed in front of young and impressionable Elflings.

Next to Glorfindel, Elrohir was rolling the stem of a flower between his fingers, and occasionally, he sniffed it, his gaze drifting dreamily into the distance.

Elrond sighed. May the Valar have mercy, Elrohir was in love. Again. What maiden was his youngest son chasing after this time? Was there any left in Imladris whom Elrohir had not yet bestowed his attention on?

'We should call ourselves lucky the times of dragons demanding virgin-sacrifices are over', Elrond mused, 'for they have become an extinct species around here since Elrohir has reached majority.' It was high time Elrohir found a mate, got married and had five or six elflings to keep him occupied. Such frivolous behaviour was unbecoming the son of a lord.

Which lead Elrond's view to Elladan, his eldest and heir. He sat slumped in his seat, frowning and brooding. The lord of Rivendell inwardly cringed when he noticed that Elladan, once again, had put on his tunic inside out. What was it with this child of his - why was he so clumsy, so careless, so - unelven? Elrond's mused on his son's broad, powerful form, the strong hands which lacked, like almost everything else about him, the natural grace and elegance of Elven kind; indeed, if it hadn't been for the long dark hair and the slightly pointed ears, Elladan could have passed as a mortal - not that anybody would have said that aloud, least of all Elrond, for he loved his son dearly.

''T’is my fault', he thought, ''t’is my human ancestry which shows so clearly in Elladan.'

Elrond had always, ever since he'd been a child, felt the strong bond between him and the part of his family which was Elven. When the time had come for him to decide where his future should lead him to, he didn't have to think twice to make a choice - he wanted to be counted among the Firstborn.

His brother, on the other hand, had been out drinking and fighting with mortals all his life, had shown little to no interest in the history of the Firstborn and fallen hopelessly in love with a mortal woman, so his choice to lead a mortal life had not come as a surprise to Elrond.

But this had in no way lessened the pain for Elrond to see his brother, his twin brother, perish and eventually die. Elros had decided one day that his time had come, assembled his family and friends and said his final farewells. Then he'd found himself a secluded spot in the woods and lain down to die under an old oak tree.

Even now, so many millennia later, the memory of his brother hurt Elrond greatly. It was one pain among many which tortured the heart of the Lord of Imladris, and even if this one didn't make itself known for a while, another pain over a loss would take its place, and so Elrond's life was filled with painful memories. He wished he could make some new, happier ones, but the Valar seemed to enjoy seeing him suffer. Even the wedding of his beloved daughter had been overshadowed with the bitter knowledge that she would not follow him to the Undying Lands; she would stay here with her beloved Estel to wither away and die.

The ones he loved had all died, eventually. Gil-galad, whose laughter Elrond still believed he heard, and whose strong hands he still felt in the dark hours of the night. Elros, his brother, who never managed to get his hair braided in a decent way. His beloved Celebrián, who had looked so fragile, but was all her father's daughter, drinking, laughing, swearing and loving with all her heart.

And then there was Glorfindel - at least his trusted old friend had come back from the Halls of Waiting - no doubt because Mandos had gotten tired of the Balrog-tale. While Elrond was happy for Glorfindel that the warrior had finally found peace and love in his life, he wondered why he was not entitled to some happiness himself. Was his life really supposed to be one of grief and sadness?

Immortality, he mused, was highly overrated. What good was an eternal life for if you had nobody to share it with you? If it was nothing but an everlasting journey full of pain and grief?

"... and I am sure you agree with me on this, Lord Elrond."

What? Who? Where? Erestor's eyes rested on him expectantly, and of course Elrond didn't have the foggiest clue what exactly it was that he should agree on. But as Erestor's advise was usually wise, Elrond straightened up, waved his hand and said; "Of course, dear Erestor, we shall do as you advise."

A chorus of groans arose from the council, and Erestor looked surprised, but satisfied.

"Why ... well, I am glad if surprised to hear you agree, Lord Elrond. So I will advise the chef that we will have two meals of steamed snails a week now to get rid of them. A very wise decision, my lord!"

With that, his advisor left the council in direction of the kitchen, long black hair and dark robes flying behind him, closely followed by Glorfindel who, without a doubt, would try to drown his lover in a kettle with soup. Elrond only regretted that there was no tree growing next to his seat so he could bang his head against it.

* * *

Rúmil lay on his back, enjoying the last beams of the late afternoon sun. He chewed on a blade of grass and watched the clouds above drift by while Orophin sat cross-legged beside him, sewing a busted seam on his jerkin. He was humming, a little out of tune, but still, Rúmil enjoyed the atmosphere of peaceful brotherly companionship very much.

"Do you miss Ada and Nana?" Rúmil asked after a while, his eyes following a cloud which looked like a goose. If it had breasts, Rúmil thought, it would look like Lady Galadriel.

Orophin looked briefly up from his work, then returned his attention back to needle and thread.

"Of course I do. I miss them a lot."

"Especially Nana, hm?"

Orophin cocked his head, giving his brother a puzzled look.

"Why her especially?"

"Because you were always Nana's pet."

Rúmil grinned when Orophin blushed.

"I was not." he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Of course you were. You were her 'darling little Phinny', despite your bad manners and your complete lack of knowledge of all things Elvish. And I shall not mention your spitting on the carpet."

Orophin whacked his brother with the sleeve of his jerkin, and Rúmil quickly rolled aside, giggling.

"And you were Ada's darling, you master archer, you!" Orophin growled, but it was an amused growl, so there was no need for Rúmil to duck and hide in the bushes.

"Ah yes, we were an adorable lot," the younger one chuckled, "and we all loved Haldir, who was the best-fed Elfling I've ever encountered, and became the best-fed Elf I know!"

"See," Orophin snickered, "this just goes to prove that I was NOT Nana's favourite – she always made me change Haldir's nappies."

"Ewwww!" Rúmil pulled a face, pinched his nose and they both broke out in laughter.

"Ah yes," Orophin sighed, "those were the days. Time has gone by so swiftly - it seems like yesterday to me."

For a while, the brothers sat in silence, till Rúmil broke it.

"And ... do you ever miss your real parents? You know - not Nana and Ada; your real ones."

Orophin gave Rúmil a sharp look.

"Why do you ask this?"

Rúmil shrugged.

"I don't know. I just - remembered how I and my brother used to lay in the grass and watch the clouds pass by. It's one of those things which just pop in your mind, you know. So I wondered if you have memories of your family as well."

Orophin had finished his sewing by now, bit off the thread and put the needle carefully away in the pouch on his belt.

"No. I have no memories. I was too young. I know there had been an attack and smoke and people screaming, but it's only - a flash of memory. As far as I can remember, I've always been with the blacksmith."

Orophin's face closed up, like it usually did on the rare occasions where the discussion came to his life in slavery. Rúmil had never pushed the subject, but there were things he had wanted to know for a very long time, and he felt he needed to know them to maybe understand his silent brother a little better. Now the time seemed right.

"Did they treat you - right?" Rúmil finally asked, worried Orophin might get angry and not talk to him again. Orophin always locked himself away when he didn't want to talk about something, but this was not the case today.

The older Elf looked at Rúmil, and thought about the question for a while, frowning.

"Right - yes, I guess they treated me right. They never beat me, I got enough food to keep me alive, and sometimes, the children were really friendly with me. It's just ..."

Orophin broke off, fiddling around with his jerkin.

"What?" Rúmil asked.

"Well ... I guess it would be nice if I could remember what colour eyes my mother had, or how she was kissing me good-night and telling me to sleep well."

He shook his head, as if to scare away his memories, then he slipped back into his jerkin.

"Ai, this is silly. Let's forget this idle talk, come on, let's prepare camp for the night, it will be dark soon and I'm tired."

With that, Orophin got up, and went to collect some wood for the fire, but Rúmil had seen the sad expression in Orophin's eyes, and he sighed. Sure, he had lost his family under horrible circumstances, but he remembered them, he remembered his mother's kisses, the teasing of his older brother, and though he had never known his father, he could look back on happy times before his life had come to a dark hour. Orophin's life, on the other hand, had probably only really begun when Amrun and Mya had adopted him.

An hour later, the two brothers were snuggled up in their bedrolls, cloaks wrapped around them, but while Orophin had fallen asleep immediately, Rúmil was tossing and turning. Their previous discussion kept him awake, and finally, he disentangled himself from his cloak, got up and sneaked over to Orophin's place. His older brother's eyes were vacant, he was deep asleep.

Rúmil bent forward, pressed a kiss on Orophin's brow and whispered: "Good-night, dear Orophin - sleep well."

Then he went back to his own bed-roll and finally fell asleep.

* * *

"It's black."

"Yes, but there is a hint of red."

"Nay!"

"Yes, there is!"

"Stop being insulting!"

"I'm not insulting! I just say that his hair shows a hint of red!"

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest and glared with menace at Elladan, who was pulling faces in a brave effort to amuse Estorel, but so far, the baby had only yawned and fallen asleep again.

Erestor, who had followed the conversation with amusement, turned his attention to Elrond, who also stood bent over the cradle.

"What do you say, my lord: does my son have ginger hair or not?"

"YOUR son can have whatever he wants, green hair if you fancy, but OUR son does NOT have red hair!" Glorfindel howled. Mauburz gave him The Evil Orc Eye.

"Me likes red hair. Rhimlan has red hair. Red hair very nice on nice baby Elf."

Elrond cleared his throat, then had a closer look at the tiny baby in the cradle, who was peacefully suckling on his dummy. Ai - it seemed like yesterday that his own children had been such wee babies. Elrohir had cried all night, and Elladan had managed to drop the dummy every other minute, so he or Celebrian had to get up six or seven times a night, crawling on all fours on the floor looking for Elladan's dummy and stop the baby's heart-breaking crying. The situation had only improved when Orophin had become guardian to the twins and attached a thin gold chain to Elladan's dummy and fixed it to the cradle.

"I can't really tell," Elrond began carefully, not willing to get tangled up in a lengthy argument with his seneschal, "maybe it's just the light. Many dark-haired Elves have a tint of red, it only enhances the shine."

Dark-haired elves like Gil-galad, for example. Not that Elrond would have said this aloud, of course. Some things, especially the aesthetic value of a mass of dark hair with a hint of red spread out over one's pillow were not meant for public discussion.

Erestor laughed.

"You are always the diplomat, my lord! Fin, stop sulking - if all things fail and Estorel should be unhappy with his hair colour, he can still dye it when he's old enough."

Fin groaned, but before he could find a suitable reply, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in if you must!" he yelled, and one of the servants stepped into the nursery, announcing that two riders from Lothlórien had arrived.

"This must be Orophin", Erestor smiled, and, turning to Elladan, he asked: "Would you be so kind to look after Estorel for a while so we can welcome his new guardian?"

Elladan, whose heart had doubled its beating rate and who showed a nice blush on his cheeks, agreed, happy to escape the embarrassing encounter with Orophin. Everybody left the nursery to welcome the Galadhrim, and Elladan sat down beside the cradle.

"Don't listen to them, Estorel," he said, gently rocking the cradle, "you look wonderful. Glorfindel is just grumpy because he ran out of hair bleach. "

* * *

"Correct me if I'm wrong, dear Erestor, but isn't this the impertinent individual who tried to molest you once?" Glorfindel snorted, and glared daggers at the two Elves who rode slowly up the path to the Last Homely House.

"Yes, it's Rúmil. About time you memorize his name, Fin, and no, he didn't molest me, he kissed me, and this he did very well, my dear. And, unlike others, he showed me respect and did not drag me to his chambers by my braids like other people I could mention here."

"I didn't drag you by your braids. I threw you over my shoulder and carried you."

"Ha," Erestor snorted, "and that makes it what? More dignified?"

"No," Fin replied with a smug smile, "more effective. Or have you already forgotten our first night?"

Erestor blushed and preferred not to answer. He turned his attention to Orophin and Rúmil, who had now reached the stairs, halted and got off their horses.

Orophin bowed in front of the Lord of Imladris, Glorfindel, Erestor and all other assembled nobility, while his eyes quickly scanned the crowd for Elladan, but the young one was nowhere to be seen. His mood dropped - the closer he'd gotten to Imladris, the more nervous he'd become. He had missed Elladan more than he realized, and the prospect of seeing the young one again had filled his heart with joy, but now...

"Welcome to Rivendell, Orophin. I am most delighted to see you in the services of my house once again, and I dare say we have all been very much looking forward to your arrival."

All but one, Orophin thought, but his answer was courteous. "You are very kind, Lord Elrond. I bring greetings from my Lord and the Lady, and I took the liberty to bring along my brother, Rúmil, whom you will certainly remember."

"Indeed," Elrond replied, still finding it difficult to accept that the gangly young Galadhrim who used to hide shyly behind Orophin's back was the same Elf who now answered Glorfindel's glares with an arrogant smile.

"I shall not abuse your hospitality, my lord", Rúmil said, "I shall only stay here for a week, then I have to return to the Golden Wood for my scheduled duties. I am merely here because, in times like these, I didn't want my brother to ride alone."

"This is wise. Now, I suggest a servant shall show you to your quarters, you can refresh yourselves and take some rest. Then I am sure Erestor and Glorfindel will wish to introduce you to your charge, Orophin."

Before Orophin could reply, someone pounced on Rúmil, who toppled over and rolled with the attacker in the dust. Only when the two came to a halt, Orophin realized it was Bramble, who had come to welcome her uncle.

"Rúmil! Rúmil!"

Rúmil tickled his niece, and the little girl giggled, yellow eyes blazing with mischief.

"Hello, little one!" he grinned, got up and dusted off his breeches, then he picked up the child and threw her high in the air and caught her securely again.

"Princess, I have missed you! Have you been a good girl while I was away?" he asked, and she giggled again.

"Yes, very good! I can catch fish now!" she declared, very proud.

"Really? That's wonderful! You must show me how you do it!" the Elf smiled, and cuddled her.

"Yes! Yes! And you can bite off the fishies' heads!"

Rúmil winced at the prospect of this kind of entertainment, and a familiar laughter was heard behind him.

"Rúmil! I knew Orophin was coming along, but I am most delighted to see you again! Bramble, please try not to damage your uncle."

"Haldir!" Rúmil said, and he carefully set the little girl back on the ground so he had his arms free to hug her father.

"It is good to see you again, penneth."

Haldir rolled his eyes.

"I'm over five thousand years old, Rúmil."

"Indeed, and it shows."

While his two brothers exchanged pleasantries and Bramble clung to Rúmil's leg, Orophin scanned once again for Elladan. He felt watched, and really - there he was, standing on a balcony, holding a baby - Estorel, Orophin thought - and watching him.

Their eyes locked.

* * *

Elladan had watched the arrival of the two Galadhrim from a distance. He barely noticed Rúmil, for his eyes were fixed on the tall Galadhrim beside him. The very same who had been his guardian for so many years. The same who had been hunting cockroaches in the kitchen with bow and arrow. The one who had been courting Arwen.

The one whose lips he still felt on his cheek.

What was this, Elladan wondered, why did he feel such a longing? He felt guilty; guilty for avoiding Orophin and being not courteous, guilty for the butterflies in his stomach, guilty for the dreams he had, guilty for wanting - yes, what? What was it that he wanted? Orophin's respect? His friendship? His love?

Ai! He should not have such thoughts! But pictures came to his mind, unbidden and not welcome, pictures of Orophin kissing him, touching him, taking him.

Elladan shook his head. Maybe he should have a swim in the Bruinen, its cold water would drive out these foolish thoughts. Orophin could and would never be his lover, and the sooner he accepted this, the better.

Before Elladan could deepen his musings, Estorel made his wish for some attention known with a groan. A tiny hand waved in the air, and Elladan picked him up, gently rocking the baby who was now cooing. Once again he was amazed Erestor would trust him to hold the child without fear he'd drop it. Then he stepped out on the balcony to see what was going on in the courtyard.

This very moment, Orophin looked up, his green eyes locking with Elladan's grey ones. He smiled, and the son of Elrond was lost.

* * *

Galadriel's naked feet touched the grass without a sound, and even the water seemed to cease the rush of its flow when the Lady of the Golden Wood stepped to the source to fill the carafe with the purest water in Lothlorien.

Lórien was sleeping, but she, its lady, was not. She had woken from disturbing dreams, found herself once again alone as her husband obviously had preferred to ride out for game or dame. And it had drawn her to the mirror. It had called to her, it wished to show her something, and so she obeyed the call and left her talan.

Once she had commanded the mirror, but now the mirror commanded her. It didn't show her anymore what she wished to see, but only what it wished to show. Slowly, slowly it had taken over her mind and thoughts, and before not too long, it would take over her heart as well.

Galadriel stood bent over the mirror, slowly pouring water, then waiting for the waves to settle. There was a sparkle, then a shine, and a picture formed on the smooth surface.

It was Elladan, locked in a passionate embrace, his face flushed, and his fingers digging deep into the back of his lover, whose face Galadriel couldn't see. She only noticed the long, silver blond hair, but before she could see more, the mirror changed the picture, and now Elladan's face was bloody, a large wound on his head, his features were disfigured with pain, and again, the silver blond Elf was bent over him. When he turned his face, she recognized him: it was Orophin.

Galadriel's heart almost stood still - this couldn't be. This wouldn't be. Not if she could help it. And if she had to send Orophin to Mordor to protect her grandson, she would do it!

Quickly, she turned and hasted back to her talan.

If she had stayed, she would have seen the face of Lady Firinwë in the mirror, a smug smile on her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celeborn has definitely a blond moment, Erestor worries that he might lose Glorfindel, Orophin is reminded on a very special night, and there are some earth-shaking revelations for Haldir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Under normal circumstances, the Lord of the Golden Wood would have realized that he was watched, and would have called the intruder upon it.

Alas, the stars shining from above this night saw Celeborn half sitting, half laying on his horse, for Miruvor had fogged his mind and senses. If his trusted steed hadn't been such a faithful companion and found her way home without guidance by her master, one would have had to fear for Celeborn ending up in a ditch by the street.

But Bain was used to carrying her master home safely – it wasn't the first time. The more Galadriel had become the Lady of the Wood, the less Celeborn had wanted to be the Lord to go with that arrangement. Where once had been a deep-rooted love and mutual respect, there were now arguments, bitterness and anger.

Whenever his duties allowed it, Celeborn would clad himself in a worn-out uniform of the Galadhrim, saddle his horse, and then he was out in some tavern, drinking and feasting with his men. They, of course, knew it was their lord getting drunk in their middle, but respected his wish to be one of them for the night. Once in a while, Celeborn tasted the sweet fruit of extra-matrimonial bliss, feeling guilty afterwards, but only until the moment Galadriel made another comment about "behaviour unbecoming a lord". So the next night, he was out again, feasting and gambling, while his wife stood bent over her mirror for hours, hoping for a sign, any sign, that her daughter would return to her one day.

Were all marriages like this? Celeborn didn't know, but he remembered well the happier times, how he and Galadriel had laughed and loved; today, there was neither laughter nor love anymore, just a mutual acceptance, and even this started to fade. He had hoped that their shared grief over their only daughter's sad fate would bring them closer together again, and for a short while, it had, only to drift them later further apart than they had ever been.

So this night, Celeborn had been out drinking, and he lost a small fortune at the gambling table as well. The cool night breeze did help a little to sober up him up; not to the point of full awareness, but at least he was now in a state to remember his own name. Which was definitely an improvement, considering the excessive drinking spree he had been on these last two days.

Bain obviously felt her master was in need of some refreshment, so she trotted off the path, down to the river Celebrant, and with a short buck, she threw Celeborn off her back and into the water.

"Ouuuwww, you rotten beast!" Celeborn howled, the ice-cold water chasing away most of the alcohol-induced cobwebs in his head. He crawled out of the water, back to the bank, where he divested himself of his sodden tunic and cloak, wrung out his hair and flopped in the grass, deciding he needed a little nap.

Nearby, Firinwë had been collecting some herbs, and she was more than just a little surprised when she ran into His Sleeping Lordship.

Her cunning little plan of wrapping Elrond around her finger hadn't worked out – it looked like Gil-galad's spirit was haunting her even from the Halls of Mandos, damn be he, unkempt peasant that he was. But then again, maybe her failure had been a success. Coming to think about it, Firinwë mused, Lothlórien was a much more desirable place than his pathetic excuse of a realm called "Rivendell", not to talk about the half-crazy Elves who lived there. And the Orc! She shuddered thinking of Mauburz. Hundreds of showers later she still thought she could smell "Eau de Mordor" on her skin. And this half-wild Rabbit… no, the only prize who had been worth playing for was Glorfindel, but unfortunately, he had decided to throw himself away to this boring mouse of an advisor – ah well, their loss, Firinwë found the Lórien-Elves with their shiny, silver blond hair to be much more appealing, anyway.

Especially Celeborn, who, she had to admit, was really mild on the eyes, and, judging from the rumours circulating, it shouldn't be too difficult to catch his attention. Galadriel, obviously, had lost touch with her people quite a while ago, and was not able to make any decisions without consulting her birdbath first, and consequently lost her husband. Celeborn, it was clear to see, was out for fun, and this she could provide, by Elbereth!

So the drunken Elf Lord lying in the grass before her was a gift sent by the Valar. She crouched down beside him, careful as not to get any grass stains on her robe, and lightly ran the tips of her fingers over his chest.

Nice. Very nice.

"My lord, you shouldn't sleep here when a comfortable bed is waiting for you," she purred, shaking him slightly. Celeborn blinked, and tried to focus, but his eyes refused service for now, so he closed them quickly again.

"Got no bed," he slurred.

"But certainly you have, my lord - and a beautiful wife to warm it for you," the wicked Elf lady added, resuming her caresses.

Celeborn snorted.

"Yes sure. She is about as eager to warm my bed as I am to kiss a dwarf. Pray tell - what are you doing?" he asked, and tried to prop up on his elbows, but failed and fell back onto the grass again.

She laughed, a silvery sound like little bells ringing, and ran her finger from his throat to the hem of his breeches.

"Why, my lord - do you like what I do?"

"Mmmmm ..." Celeborn purred, "... 't is nice ..."

By the Valar, this was even easier than she had thought - like stealing candy from an Elfling!

"Nice it is, aha. Well, my lord, why not let me help you to find you a comfortable place to stay and I shall see what I can do for you?"

The state Celeborn was in, he would have agreed to marry a dwarf at this moment, so he didn't object when Firinwë helped him up and on his horse, leading the steed to her talan close by. It was quite a bit of hard work to get the plastered Elven lord up the stairs, but he had millennia of experience, and he probably would not have fallen off the stairs even if he had been drunk and blindfolded.

Finally, Firinwë had him where she wanted him - in her bedroom. He flopped down on her large bed and was asleep immediately. 'Well', she thought, 'this had to be expected'. Carefully, not to awake him, she stripped him of his boots and remaining clothes, and looking down at the naked Elf, she seriously regretted he was not up to any extra-matrimonial activities in this state. But, another night, another chance. For now, he was with her, and in the morrow, he wouldn't be able to remember anything, anyway, and would willingly believe any tale she told him. And by the Valar, she intended to tell him quite some tale!

Firinwë took off her clothes, and slipped under the sheets beside Celeborn. How nice - how very nice. This she could get used to. She had always had a weak spot for warriors, and Celeborn hid a warrior's body under his silken robes, a body she ran her hands possessively over now. 'Mine - all mine, my lord,' she thought, and considered her strategy. Finally, a sly smile hushed over her face. She pressed her lips to his throat, and started to suck, leaving a love bit of impressing size. 'Looks good - ai, 't is wonderful work, and if this won't drive dear old Galadriel out of her nightshirt, nothing will.' And once Galadriel was gone, she would be here to soothe the poor, abandoned husband.

Indeed - she was indebted to Lord Elrond. Why rule Imladris if she could rule Lothlórien?

* * *

While Celeborn slept into the next morning and the hangover from Mordor, Erestor sat in a chair by the window and stared out on the empty courtyard of Rivendell. Heavy rain was falling, thick grey clouds covered the sky. Estorel was in his cradle, dozing, and after playing with him for two hours, Erestor was exhausted.

Having a child was so much more demanding than he had ever thought. There was not a second his mind was not worrying, and he anxiously checked on the baby every time even the slightest sound came from the cradle.

Glorfunkle sat on his usual place at the head of the cradle. In the beginning, Erestor and Fin had tried to keep the crow out of the nursery, but then Erestor had realized that Glorfunkle was holding watch - no spider, fly or other insect made it even halfway to the cradle with the sleeping Elfling, this the crow made sure of it. Erestor was touched by the animal's loyalty, and so he allowed him to stay.

"Just you wait - his first word will not be 'ada' but 'kra-kra'!" Fin had joked, and Erestor had smiled, too, though he didn't feel amused at all.

Indeed - Erestor felt melancholic, depressed even. He should call himself the luckiest Elf on Arda - he held a much-respected position at the court of Rivendell, he had a lovely, lovely child and a devoted - Elf.

And that was the problem - Glorfindel. As much as Erestor loved him, and though he knew Fin loved him in return, there was this ever-present fear of losing the warrior. Not to battle, not to war - but to somebody else. Fin had been married five times, but never bonded with anybody, had always shied back from this last, permanent step, so who could tell if he would not one day decide to leave Erestor and find somebody new? Erestor certainly didn't consider himself a first choice for an Elven lord - he came from a simple family, his father had been a carpenter. Glorfindel's House of the Golden Flower had been something he admired from afar when he was a wee Elfling, but would never have considered belonging to.

Erestor was not blind - half the population of Rivendell would probably sacrifice a limb for Glorfindel's favour. Maybe he was expecting too much. Maybe he should just be happy with what he had, and as long as it lasted, and not pine for something he could never have. But Erestor had bonded his heart and soul to Glorfindel, and as he thought the depth of his emotions were not returned, there was an emptiness which hurt more with every day that passed. Erestor was sure he would fade if Fin ever left him.

Still the rain fell, and Erestor didn't notice when Glorfindel slipped through the door.

"My love - why do you sit here in the dark, brooding? Is anything amiss?" Fin asked, worried. He had well noticed the growing sadness about Erestor, but hadn't felt it advisable to address the issue yet. But now, seeing his lover sitting alone in the darkness, a forlorn expression on his face, he wondered if this had been a mistake.

"'t is nothing, Fin," Erestor said quietly, not turning around. Fin went over to the lean figure clad in black velvet, and gently stroked his cheek.

"There is something, Erestor - for quite a while already."

He knelt down beside Erestor's chair, and took his hand, gently rubbing the knuckles with his thumb.

"What ails you, my love? Share your thoughts - maybe I can help?"

Erestor still didn't look at him, just stared out of the window. Fin pressed a soft kiss on the back of the advisor's hand.

"Is it the baby? Is it too much work? If so, I can do more, if you want. I could ..."

"No," Erestor interrupted him, "it is not the baby."

He finally turned to face Fin, and the warrior was shocked when he saw the sadness and the longing in the dark eyes.

"Fin - would you leave me?"

"Leave you?" Fin stared at his lover, shocked. "Why in the Valar's name should I ever leave you, Erestor?"

His lover shrugged.

"I don't know ... I just fear it. Sometimes ..." he looked out of the window again, "...sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, because I dreamt you had left me, and there was this emptiness - as if half of my soul was missing."

Erestor was now facing the Balrog-slayer, and Glorfindel could see the tears which started to pool in the dark eyes.

"I could not live without you, and this scares me so, Fin. I never had to depend on anybody, I was my own master, and now - now my life and well-being depends on you, and I greatly fear to lose you - and myself."

Fin took Erestor in his arms.

"This is all about the bonding, isn't it?"

The other Elf didn't answer, but Fin knew that he had read him correctly.

"Erestor - we are already bonded. Can't you see? Can't you feel it? Do you need a ceremony for the entire world to know? If you wish so - I shall be happy to oblige. But I have bonded myself to you from the very first moment you accepted me as your mate, and this bond I shall never sever. You fear I own you, but you own me, Erestor, heart and soul, body and mind."

Erestor was crying now, a silent crying, and he buried his face in Fin's neck; the warrior soothingly stroked his back, placing gentle kisses on the dark hair.

"How about this, love: next week we have the name-giving ceremony. So, while Estorel will receive his name from you, how about holding an additional bonding-ceremony at the same time? I spring for the rings if you pay for the wine."

Erestor had to chuckle despite his tears.

"Oh Fin - only you can make such a serious matter sound like a folly!"

Fin kissed him, and grinned.

"But it is folly, my love! And talking about folly, I think you have stared out of the window long enough now."

With that, he picked up the protesting advisor and carried him to their bed, dropped him down rather unceremoniously and began to shed his clothes.

"What are you up to again, Fin?" Erestor asked, and propped up on his elbows, his eyes wandering in admiration over Fin's well-toned body.

"Well - let me see: first I will be up on you. Then I intend you to be up on me. Afterwards, I would be most pleased to be inside you, and then we could try the whole thing again, in reversed order."

He gave Erestor a stern look.

"You got exactly 12 seconds to get out of your robes before I cut you out."

Erestor managed to get out of his clothes in 10 seconds, which was a new record.

* * *

Orophin accompanied Glorfindel to Rivendell's blacksmith. He certainly wasn't enthusiastic about visiting the workshop; even now, millennia later, this brought up some bitter memories, but this was something he would have never told Lord Glorfindel. For the rest of the world, he, Haldir and Rúmil were brothers, sons of Amrun and Mya, and everything else was nobody's business but their own.

A week had passed since his arrival in Rivendell, and Elladan, the common meals aside, had managed to avoid him on every occasion. By now, Orophin wasn't sure anymore what to think of the young Elven lord. For a second, when their eyes had met on the day of his arrival, he had thought that he saw interest in the grey eyes of Lord Elrond's oldest son, but obviously, he had been wrong. He should have been glad about it, for certainly it was not in his place to pursue the young lord, but he couldn't help feeling the great sadness that came with the realization that what he had considered interest had been nothing but a short-lived infatuation of Elladan - a bit like the enthusiastic admiration Rúmil had felt for Lady Galadriel when he had come of age.

Orophin was so wrapped in his musings that he almost ran into Elladan who had just turned around the corner.

"Oh," the young lord said, which was about the most intelligent thing he could come up with. He stared at Orophin, who stared back at him, and damned be it, the embarrassing heat flushed his cheeks again and made his eyes shine, and Elladan blushed like a maiden. Elladan wished he could have said something witty, something clever; Elrohir never was lost for words.

"My lord," Orophin greeted, and bowed formally, while Glorfindel slapped Elladan's shoulder.

"Elladan - I haven't talked to you for quite a while, where do you hide during the day?"

"I ... well I have... I was... actually I did... yes, so that's why." Elladan babbled, his eyes still fixed on Orophin's, like a rabbit stone frozen in front of a snake.

"Aha," Fin chuckled, "that's why. I see."

Maybe Glorfindel was a little slow on the uptake at times when it came to diplomatic missions or understanding the tax system of the Shire, but for romance he had an instinct which beat the one of a hunting falcon. Elladan's flushed face and odd behaviour, and Orophin's sparkling green eyes plus the badly hidden joy on the face of the Galadhrim told him all there was to know. 'By the Valar', he thought, 'Elladan has a better taste than I thought. Galadriel will have a fit - how delightful!'

"Elladan, close your mouth, you look stupid. And Orophin, you don't look much more intelligent, either. I hate to interrupt the mutual mooning here, but we are already late, and we have an appointment which I intent to keep. I bid you a fair day, Elladan, and by the way, you wear two different coloured clasps on your braids."

Both Orophin and Elladan turned brick red, and Elladan cursed his former tutor's bluntness. Elbereth, Glorfindel was, without a doubt, the most tactless Elf in Rivendell, and probably even worse than King Thrandúil, and why oh why didn't he have a look at the mirror before he had left his chamber! Different hair clasps! Orophin must think him an imbecile!

'He wears two different coloured hair clasps', Orophin thought, allowing his face for a second to slip in a doting expression.

'How absolutely adorable.'

* * *

Why Glorfindel had insisted he accompany him to the blacksmith's workshop, he didn't know, but of course Orophin obeyed. The guardian pressed down the handle of the shop's door, and they entered. There was the unique metallic scent common for a forge hanging in the air, various fires were burning, and a chain was dangling from the roof.

Orophin closed his eyes.

Flashback Orophin

"Orophin? Are you awake?"

"No."

She giggled, and though he had tried to sound as grumpy and unwelcoming as possible, he was, of course, delighted she came for a visit.

Lilly climbed up the ladder to the part of her grandfather's workshop where the Elf had his straw mattress. Here he kept his few personal belongings, and once arrived, she dusted off her skirt before she said anything.

"Don't be such a grump, Orophin. I brought you some apples. And that's not all!"

With a triumphant smile, she first took some fresh apples out of the pockets in her skirt, and then followed with a small jar and a spoon.

Orophin's eyes lit up at the prospect of eating fresh fruit, and he grabbed for an apple, not bothering to polish it first, and wolfed it down.

"Mmmm...." he moaned, and closed his eyes.

"Nice, aren't they! I thought you would like them. But wait till you tried this!"

She sat beside Orophin on the mattress, and unscrewed the jar. Orophin sniffed.

"This smells nice, what is it?"

"It's fruit from a far away country - my father brought three jars from the market, and I thought I would share mine with you."

Orophin gave her a warm smile.

"You are as good as gold, Lilly."

She smiled back, not answering, and dipped the spoon in the jar.

"Open your mouth." He obeyed, and she fed him a spoonful of the stewed fruit.

"Oh, that's wonderful! What is it called?"

"They call it 'peach'. Father said the fruit looks like a girl's bottom, but doesn't it taste lovely?"

Orophin only nodded. Usually, he was fed what was at hand; not that they'd let him starve, but it was certainly not the same the family got served. If it hadn't been for the extra treats Lilly regularly snatched off the dinner table and out of the pantry, his diet would have been very sparse.

The next few minutes the two youngsters spent eating the stewed peach in companionable silence, and when the jar was empty, Lilly licked it clean, leaving the spoon to the Elf.

"You look like a cat," Orophin said, and she purred. Both laughed, then Lilly got serious.

"Father had a terrible argument with grandpa today, and it was about you."

Orophin cocked his head.

"About me? Why?"

She shrugged.

"Our king has banished slavery from his kingdom five years ago, and there are talks about an alliance with an Elven realm. Father is afraid he might get into trouble if it's found out he keeps you here, so he wanted to release you. Grandfather got really angry, saying he paid a fortune for you, and would not hear of such nonsense."

The face of the young elf closed up.

"So?"

Lilly sighed, and put the jar aside.

"I'm afraid as long as grandfather lives, you will not be free."

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke a word. The Elf had the usual neutral expression on his face, and Lilly saw resignation in his eyes.

"Orophin, I really want my grandfather to live a long time. But I promise you, the day he dies, I will set you free myself."

Orophin shrugged.

"Free? What for? I have never been free. Where would I go to? I am not like you, people would give me funny looks."

She shook her head.

"You could go to a place where your own people live."

"My people? I have no people, Lilly. I'm on my own."

There was much bitterness in his voice, and Lilly felt bitter, too. Bitter and angry with her grandfather for treating Orophin the way he did, angry with her father for his weakness, and angry with herself, too.

"You have people, Orophin. Look," she gently pushed the half-long strands of silver blond hair which covered his ears away, revealing their leaf-like form with the pointed tips, "there are people with ears like yours, who would treat you well and not - chain you up."

The last part of the sentence she almost spat, and he quickly turned away, for one because he was ashamed, as always when she mentioned the chain around his neck. But he was also embarrassed, because her gentle touch to his ear was all but calming, and he felt how he blushed.

And of course, the wicked girl had noticed.

"Do you like it when I do - this?" she asked, a cheeky smile on her lips, and caressed his ear again.

He shied away from her.

"You really shouldn't do this, Lilly. REALLY shouldn't do this," the Elf stuttered, but since when would this have stopped a woman?

Lilly gently traced his ear again; he groaned, and everything changed. Something was there that hadn't been before, and Orophin didn't know if this was for the better or the worse.

"Remember? I have been fascinated by your ears ever since - oh, ever since I was a little girl. And while I got older, you always looked the same. Indeed - if I look at you now, you don't look a day older than I do, but you must be almost as old as grandpa. And you are beautiful."

"Beautiful? Me?" Orophin asked, and almost laughed. He looked down at his hands - calloused, with dirt under the fingernails no water or soap could ever wash away, covered up to his elbows in countless blisters and burn marks from the hard work by the fire.

Lilly didn't answer, but she caressed his ear again, and Orophin closed his eyes. He opened them immediately, though, when he felt her lips on his.

He stared at her in utter disbelief, and she didn't look less confused. There was a loaded silence; finally, Lilly took a deep breath, and started to fish around in the pocket of her skirt. After a while, she found what she had been looking for.

It was a key.

Maybe she had still doubts about what she was doing here, but she didn't hesitate a moment, and when the lock of the chain sprang open, she felt like a lock on her heart had been opened as well.

Orophin stared down at the chain which had fallen to the floor, and his hands touched hesitatingly his throat. For the first time in fifty years there was no chain around his neck - he was free.

Free.

"I am sorry, it was not right to do this, not when you were chained up. Look, I want you to go, Orophin. It is not right to keep you here. You must go and find your own people."

He tried to say something, but words failed him.

"Go, please. Before anybody notices."

Free. He was free.

"Lilly - what will they do to you when they find out?" he finally managed to ask.

"They won't find out. And even if... oh, it was not right in the first place to put you here. But grandpa is old - in his time, people thought it was normal to have slaves," she added, almost apologizing.

Orophin was still touching his neck, then he got up, and took a few steps. For the first time in his life, he could walk as far as he wanted without the chain tearing on his neck. It was… he didn't have words for the feeling. It was like a dream.

Finally, he sat back down beside her. There was a lot he wanted to say, but he had no words, and she hugged him, which felt very good; he couldn't remember the last time somebody had hugged him. Then her lips were on his again, his first real kiss, and indeed, this was even better than the hug. At first, it was strange, having somebody else's tongue in his mouth, but it was nice, too, like wet silk, and he felt the heat rise, and the hair on the back of his neck bristled.

She straddled him, and ran her fingers through his shaggy hair.

"You taste different than men," she finally said, and he cocked an eyebrow. Unsure where to put his hands, he rested them on her waist.

"Different?"

"Yes. Different. Better different. Like something fresh and green and crispy."

"Lettuce?"

She laughed.

"I didn't think I'd ever get that enthusiastic about lettuce!"

"Are you enthusiastic about me then?" he asked, and again, there was something new, something frightening, but exciting and beautiful at the same time.

Lilly looked at him, her hands playing in his hair.

"Very enthusiastic. Don't you remember? When I was a child, I told you I would marry you one day."

He rested his head on her shoulder, not sure if he was allowed to, but she didn't push him away, just continued to stroke his hair.

"You are not a child anymore."

"No. Nor are you, Orophin. Not after tonight, anyway."

Again, she caressed his ear, and he leant into the touch, willing to let her take the lead. She realized he was giving her his consent, and she kissed him, her heart jumping when he returned the kiss with little skill but a lot of enthusiasm. Then there were only touches and kisses, whispered words and clumsy fumbling. It was a good thing Lilly knew, at least by hear-say, what she did, for Orophin most certainly had no idea, and if the two hadn't been so completely overwhelmed with their emotions, they would surely have laughed about each others' clumsy first steps on the treacherous dance-floor of passion.

But as things were, they didn't laugh, for this was a serious thing which happened. Many, many millennia later, Orophin would still remember this night in all details, and his first love would have a special place in his heart for all eternity.

Finally, they lay spent, snuggled up to each other, and Lilly was drawing ornaments on Orophin's chest with a strand of her hair.

He chuckled.

"This tickles."

"Does it?"

"Yes."

"I love you."

"You shouldn't."

"I know. But I love you, anyway."

* * *

"Orophin?" Glorfindel asked, and the Galadhrim shook his head, looking at him confused.

"My apologies, my lord - I was distracted."

"It's the age, dear friend - you should eat more garlic," Fin snickered, then he beckoned the blacksmith to come closer.

"My friend, this is Orophin of Lórien, the guardian of my son and heir. I would like you to fetch the sword I ordered - I assume it is finished?"

The blacksmith bowed, eyeing Orophin respectfully.

"Of course, my lord. I promised it would be finished by today, and it is finished. Just one second."

With this, he left, and they heard him rummaging in the backroom of the workshop. He soon returned, carrying a masterfully forged sword. Orophin's eyes got wider - by the Valar, this was a sword worthy of a king!

"Ah, here we got it. Orophin, do me the favour and try it out."

"Me? But - I am no expert in sword fighting," the Galadhrim protested, but Fin shook his head and cut him off with a short gesture.

"This is not about mastership, Orophin. I want you to try the weapon and tell me how it feels."

Orophin obeyed, and took the beautiful sword firmly in his hand, then he let the blade cut the air a couple of times experimentally.

"It is a wonderful sword, my lord. It is easy to wield, well-balanced and lies in your hand as if it was part of your arm. The work of a master," he added, and bowed in front of the blacksmith, who immediately grew two inches with pride.

Fin nodded.

"Indeed. And I am glad to hear you like the weapon. I wouldn't want you to carry around a sword you don't like."

Orophin looked at him, confused, and didn't really understand what the lord was saying.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes.

"Read what's written on the blade, Orophin."

The Galadhrim turned the sword, and read - his name.

"This is... my sword? For me?"

Fin nodded, and the blacksmith hastened to add; "This is the blade named Tirith, for you are The Guardian, and it shall serve no other master but you."

Orophin still couldn't believe his luck, and Fin put his hand on the shoulder of the confused Galadhrim.

"Orophin - you have served Imladris well. You have saved the life of the twins more than once when they were little, and now I entrust you to protect my son. I do so because I know you are trustworthy, an Elf of honour and loyal to my family. A blade like this needs a master worthy of its virtue, and you, my friend, are worthy. So take this sword, and may you never need to use it to protect my family, but if you have to, it shall serve you well."

"Thank you, my lord. I don't know how I can ever repay you for this gift."

Fin shrugged.

"Two gold pieces a month, plus instalments."

* * *

Haldir greatly enjoyed having both his brothers gathered around his table this evening. They were exchanging the latest news, retelling old battle tales and trying to outdo each other with exaggerations and hackneyed stories, while Bramble sat on Rúmil's lap, chewing on one of his braids.

"Rúmil, I shall not bother you with the tiresome question as to whether there is a chance you will finally get married, and start the production of the grand-children Nana so desperately hopes to meet once you travel to Valinor," Haldir joked, and Rúmil laughed.

"Ai, Haldir - with Bramble, she already has one adorable granddaughter, and I have no intention to settle down - why should I be with one if I can have all of them?"

Haldir rolled his eyes.

"Still in your old ways then, aye?"

Rúmil grinned.

"I can't help it - see, it would be most unfair to restrict my attention and legendary skills in love to one fair Elf and disappoint all others. This would be an act of despiseable egotism - surly you wouldn't want that?"

Haldir gave him a smug smile.

"No, we don't want this. But I also don't want to see you end speared on Lord Glorfindel's sword, dear brother."

Rúmil cried out in mock insult.

"Haldir! How can you even think such a thing! I shall not even look at Master Erestor's fair features - at least not when Lord Glorfunzle is present."

Haldir whacked him with a cushion, and Orophin grinned. It was good to be reunited with his brothers; though he was happy for Haldir and his little family, he had missed him very much, and the rare occasions when they had met were always hours he remembered fondly for a long time after.

Haldir, he mused, was the luckiest of them. He had never known the pain of losing a family, or lived in hardship. He had been brought to the Golden Wood when he was a mere babe, and so he had neither suffered from nightmares nor had he been hunted by painful memories, and for this, Orophin was grateful. He had always felt very protective towards the youngest of the family, and even if Haldir had often driven him up the wall with his attitude of acting first and thinking afterwards, he loved him dearly.

"Talking about fair features - when will Rabbit finally grace us with his presence, Haldir?" Rúmil asked. He had seen the fabled mate of his younger brother only once, from a distance, and he was curious to see who and how the Elf was Haldir had chosen for a life mate.

Haldir shrugged.

"Rabbit doesn't like company. He comes and goes as he pleases."

"And you are comfortable with this?" Orophin asked, a little worried.

"Of course. We are not each other's masters."

What Haldir didn't mention was that he would have loved to have Rabbit here tonight, too, having all of his family gathered around one table. But Rabbit didn't want to, so he had to accept it. There was no point in discussing this with his brothers, though they were happy for him and willing to accept Rabbit, they would not understand the very special relationship he and Rabbit had. At times, even he didn't understand it.

The door clacked, and Rabbit stood in the room, regarding all present. They felt he was evaluating them, so they didn't move. Haldir got up, beaming at his mate.

"Rabbit - it is good to see you."

The tall, rangy Elf stayed where he was, then he pressed a gentle kiss on Haldir's lips.

Rúmil, as usual, was the first to find his tongue again.

"Greetings, Rabbit. I am most pleased to see you."

Rabbit felt the honesty behind the phrase, so he allowed himself a smile.

Then he sniffed.

Like all of his kind, most of the way he saw the world around him was determined by scent - he could smell fear, lies, love, hate, sadness, dishonesty and loyalty like other Elves smelled strawberries or grilled fish. And Rabbit classified the beings he met by their scent - every family had their own, unmistakable scent, so even if nobody had told him, he knew long ago that Elrond, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir were of the same tribe, and that Erestor was of his own blood. So he sniffed Haldir's brothers - and was confused.

He looked at Haldir, then he looked at Rúmil, who sat closest to him, sniffed again, then he shook his head.

If they were brothers, why didn't Rúmil have the scent of Haldir's tribe?

* * *

Women usually did not frequent the "Golden Hind", at least none of a decent reputation. So the inn keeper was a little surprised when he saw the young woman with the basket enter his tavern. She looked around, noticing the odd looks she got, but didn't hesitate when she came over to him.

"I want to speak to the Elf," she said, her voice sweet, but firm.

"Elf? I don't know of Elves, young miss, and this is no place for a young miss to be at this time of the night, if I may say so," he grumbled, continuing to dry glasses with a dirty towel, but she only shook her head.

"I know there is an Elf. He is in your backroom, playing cards."

Quickly, the inn keeper scanned the room for possible spies of the king, then he addressed the young woman again.

"Hush, young miss - you are speaking nonsense. There are no Elves here, no backrooms, and certainly nobody is playing cards!"

She rolled her eyes.

"I have no business with your business, Sir. But I have something here which I must give to the Elf, so you either show me the way to your backroom, or I shall ask one of the royal guards to help me find it. Which option do you prefer?"

Wimminfolk, he thought, they are the bane of all mankind. But still, better to give in than spend time on His King's expense in the dungeons.

"Come then, if you must," he grumbled, and lead the way through the kitchen. She followed him, holding the basket close to her, and finally, he gave two knocks to a small door and entered.

So this was a real Elf - she caught her breath. He was tall and beautiful beyond belief, silver blond hair went down to his waist, but he also was a warrior, this was clear to see, and for a moment, she was taken aback by his presence.

"Now what nonsense is this, man. Wimminfolk have no business to be here!" one of the players barked, and glared at the young woman. She glared back, not frightened at all, and, ignoring the rest of the players, addressed the Elf.

"Sir, if I may speak to you for a few minutes - in private?"

The Elf smiled - a very winning, charming smile, and she thought to herself that he probably was quite a handful.

"Ai - for a charming young lady, I always have time. Would you excuse us, my friends? I shall win your last pieces of gold later."

The Elf had a beautiful voice, like a song, but there was an odd, constructed way to his speech, and she guessed it was because he had his own language and the common tongue was strange to him. The men got up, not questioning his request, which had been more of an order, really, and she was not surprised, for there was a natural authority about him.

When everybody had left and the door closed behind them, the Elf sat down again, relaxing, and looked at her expectantly.

"So then, young lady - how can I be of assistance to you?"

"Sir, I have something which I need to give you."

With that, she put the wicker basket on the table, very carefully, and lifted the cloth which had covered the contents. Celeborn bent down, and his face took on an expression of surprise and amazement when he saw what the young woman had brought along.

"By the Valar - where have you found this, woman?"

She shrugged.

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh, it does matter, woman!"

With that, the lord got up, and lifted the tiny infant out of the basket. It was a male, hardly over a week old, silky silver blond hair covering the head, and the tiny, leaf-like ears with the perfectly pointed tips identified the baby as an Elf.

"Woman - Elven children don't grow on trees, and you certainly didn't find that one when you were collecting berries in the woods! So tell me, where does he come from?"

She shook her head, and only now he saw how pale she was, and how sad her eyes.

"I can't tell you, Sir. But he has nobody, and he should live with his people. I ... if circumstances were different, I would keep him here, but... please, Sir, take him with you. I am sure you will find somebody among your people who can look after him."

She broke off, and Celeborn could only stare down at the baby.

"Do you know his name?"

She shook her head.

"No. I ... don't know what names Elves have."

Celeborn studied her, and finally came to a decision.

"Very well then, I think I can believe you that you didn't steal the infant and only want his best."

Celeborn covered her small hand with his large, long-fingered one.

"Young lady - you know where you can find me. If you should - change your mind, or want to know how the wee one is doing, come to me. I shall ensure you have the same rights - a mother would have."

'He knows', she thought. 'He knows, but he accepts my decision.'

She nodded, then she pressed a kiss on the baby's brow.

"I thank you, Sir. But you shall not see me again."

With that, she put the hood of her cloak back over her head, and left the room, leaving a thoroughly confused Celeborn behind.

The baby started to whimper, and he put the little one back in the basket, carefully covering him again with the warm blanket.

"No name, and no family. Ai, you had a bad start, penneth, but I'll make sure things will improve now."

While Celeborn called for some extra blankets and milk, he thought about a name for the little boy. Armai, maybe. Or Feril. Or Haldir. Yes. Haldir had a nice ring to it.

So 'Haldir' it was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orophin and Elladan find each other only to be separated again, and Haldir doesn't know anymore who he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

The army of Gondor was marching - thousands of men, their heavy boots producing a thundering, deafening noise.

And they were marching directly from the back of Celeborn's head to the front.

"Varda..." he groaned, and immediately closed his eyes when he came to awareness, blinded by the sun which reflected from a giant, golden framed mirror above the bed.

Mirror above the bed?!?

He didn't have a mirror above his bed. He might suffer from the hangover from Mordor, but his brain was not that fogged that he would have forgotten such a detail. And unless Galadriel had discovered a slightly more adventurous side of herself (which was highly unlikely), this only left one conclusion the Lord of Lothlorien could come to: he was not in his own bed.

Oh.

But in whose bed was he then?

Double oh.

What in Elbereth's name had happened last night? Celeborn desperately tried to remember. First, there had been another row with Galadriel, as usual. Then he had saddled his horse and ridden out to drown his sorrows in at least two decanters of wine. He remembered the tavern, the dancers and a pretty little thing who had told him she wished to see his battle scars, and Celeborn had been only too happy to oblige.

Afterwards, there had been some more wine, even more wine, a lot of wine, actually, and the rest of the evening was only a blur. So whether he liked it or not, he had to open his eyes and face the music.

What he faced first, however, was himself, reflected in the mirror above. His first reaction was 'not in bad shape for your age, Celeborn', but then the serious lack of any textile cover on his body gave him certain ideas on how the last night might have ended, and then his eyes fixed on a huge love-bite on his neck.

Triple oh.

'Galadriel will have my balls with chopped onion and parsley for this', he thought, and groaned.

"Oh, darling ... are you in pain? Are you exhausted? Shall I fetch you something? Maybe a glass of wine?"

Celeborn almost dropped out of the bed when he heard the voice sing-songing in his ear. Frantically, he gathered the blanket around his middle in a rather pitiful attempt to cover the vital bits and pieces that had been on public display so far, then he turned to the owner of the voice, and by the Valar, he was sure he would be the first Elf in history to die of a heart-attack.

"Firinwë ...!" he squeaked, and the cold hand of terror squeezed his heart.

"But of course, my love - who else?"

Who else? Saruman, maybe. Or a dwarf. By the Valar, even the amusing Orc who ran the perfume shop in Rivendell would have been more tempting than, of all the horrors in Middle Earth, Lady Firinwë.

"What am I doing here? And what are YOU doing here? What madness is this?" Celeborn howled.

"I am most hurt, Celeborn, I have to tell you this. All night, you've been giving me – standing ovations, and now you pretend you don't even remember the wonderful moments of passion and love we shared?"

A bucket. Hopefully there was a bucket somewhere close; for Celeborn was sure he would need it very, very soon.

"Admittedly, I have not the foggiest clue what happened last night, but I am most certain about the things that did not."

"Oh but how can you forget!" she squealed, "You actually begged me to take you with me!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, then he glared at Firinwë, who treated him to the full service of female indignation: tear-brimmed eyes and The Quivering Underlip.

"Firinwë. I have fallen for you once. I cannot imagine that I fell for you a second time. Right now, I am naked. You are naked. We are both naked in this bed. I am known to bed about every attractive female who is not quick enough to climb the next tree when I'm approaching. So, considering all this, does not the fact that the only thing standing up at the moment is the hair on the back of my neck maybe, just maybe, indicate that I am not attracted to you?"

If Celeborn had hoped for reason, he was disappointed.

"Well," she purred, and ran her finger down his chest, "I am sure I can do something to increase your interest…".

She slowly began crawling over the bed, and he retreated, pressing his back to the headboard and clutching the bed sheets for dear life.

"Do not touch me, Firinwë – whatever your intentions are, they better not include any kind of physical contact!"

Celeborn was only saved from certain maiming and worse by a heavy knock on the door.

"Oh, for crying out loud…" Firinwë groaned, rolled her eyes and quickly slipped into her dress to answer the door.

Outside stood two of Galadriel's guards, lances shouldered and wearing shiny armour. 'I bet Galadriel polishes them herself every morning', Firinwë thought, then she demanded to know the reason for their visit at such an ungodly hour.

"We are here to escort you and Lord Celeborn to the Lady Galadriel", said Polished Guard No. 1, glaring at the lady with obvious disgust.

"Why this? Well, you can tell Lady Galadriel that I have no intention leaving in such a state, and anyway, the Lord Celeborn is not here," she snapped, giving the two an arrogant look.

"My lady, you misunderstand the situation," Polished Guard No. 2 replied, trying hard to keep his eyes focused on the lady's face, not on her rather impressive cleavage. Alas, he failed. "This is not a request. It is an order."

"You better keep your eyes at eye level, Elfling. What are you going to do if I refuse to come along – carry me?"

"If I remember correctly, the lady's orders were to bring you in front of her 'dead or alive', so I hope you will agree with me that the first option is less troublesome for all involved than the second."

"This is most certainly arguable," Celeborn's voice grumbled from behind the lady, "enough of the commotion already, we will follow you."

"My lord … I am most sorry …" Polished Guard No. 1 stuttered, bowing deeply.

"Rest assured - not more than I. Let us go."

Firinwë wondered how he had managed to dress so quickly, but this was a task Celeborn had mastered out of pure necessity – one could not risk fidgeting around with laces and buttons too long if the husband of a lover turned up unannounced and a sudden exit was the only way to escape unharmed.

The Lord of the Golden Wood looked regal even in his dishevelled condition. Always the gentle-elf, he threw a cloak over the lady, then stepped down the stairs of the talan, followed by Firinwë and the two guards who felt absolutely uncomfortable with the situation.

To bring Firinwë in front of Galadriel was one thing - her insistence on feeding the guards strictly vegetarian had not exactly won her many friends - but Celeborn, the much-admired and loved lord – that was another thing altogether!

* * *

Rúmil began feeling most uncomfortable under Rabbit's silent, scrutinizing look. And by the Valar, now he was sniffing again, like a wild animal!

Rabbit, on the other hand, was thoroughly confused. Something was wrong here, but maybe it wasn't right to address this issue now - the question of why Rúmil didn't carry the scent of Haldir's tribe. How could this be? They were brothers, were they not?

Bramble, who so far had been happy to sit on Rúmil's lap, now climbed down and ran to Rabbit, clinging to one of his legs. He crouched down and lifted the little one up, touching her forehead with his in greeting, growling softly.

"Rúmil let me chew on his braid," she declared, and smiled, while Haldir grinned. It was clear to see Rúmil was reluctant when it came to Rabbit, but at least he had warmed up to their daughter. Orophin watched the scene in silence, noticing the alert expression on the dark elf's face, and somehow he felt Rabbit's confusion. As he saw Rabbit’s questioning gaze shift between Haldir and Rúmil, he wondered what was going on.

"I came to greet your kin."

"Aye, and I appreciate it." Haldir gave him a warm smile, and Rabbit felt glad he had ignored his own fears to come here tonight, despite the visitors. It meant a lot to Haldir that he met his family, and if this was the way to make him happy, so be it. He would question his mate later about the missing connection between him and Rúmil.

"Come, sit down with us", Haldir said. Rabbit wanted to leave again, feeling his social duties had been fulfilled, but when he noticed the pleading look in Haldir's eyes, he changed his mind, and settled on the floor beside his mate's seat, resting his arms and his head on the younger Elf's thigh. Haldir started to run his hand gently over the dark hair - he would have loved to run his fingers through it just once, but the black mass was so heavy it was not possible.

Orophin smiled inwardly. Sure, the dark Elf was strange, and not at all like one of their kin, but he was obviously very much in love with Haldir, and Haldir seemed to be happy. The two had a wonderful daughter, which was a miracle in itself, and Orophin trusted his instinct, telling him that Haldir was loved and safe. This was all Orophin needed to know - at least one of them was happy, he thought, and sighed, his thoughts straying for a moment to a pair of grey eyes and two different coloured hair clasps.

Rúmil was not as confident as Orophin when it came to Rabbit. He felt uncomfortable in his presence, so, after a couple of minutes of silence, he got up.

"I thank you for your hospitality, brother - but I am very tired, it has been a long day, and tomorrow, I shall get up with the rising sun to accompany Lord Glorfindel on a patrol, for I wish to see more of Imladris. Rabbit - it was... interesting meeting you."

Rúmil hugged Haldir; Bramble, who had sat under the table and played with her doll, crawled out from her hiding place and reached up with her arms, demanding a hug as well. Rúmil smiled and lifted her up, squeezing her.

"Goodnight, princess. Sleep well, and have sweet dreams."

She giggled, and tugged on his braids with such force that tears came to his eyes.

"Night night!" she said, and hugged him. Rúmil set her back on the floor, and put on his cloak. Orophin decided to join him in his departure, hugged Haldir as well, then, after a moment of hesitation, he knelt down beside Rabbit, who eyed him watchfully. He opened his arms, turned the palms of his hands toward Rabbit to signal that he was neither armed nor had any bad intentions, then he rested his forehead on Rabbit’s for a short moment.

"I hope this was the correct greeting among your kin, Rabbit. If it was not, I apologize, for I wish to respect your customs."

Rabbit looked at him with those strange yellow eyes, then he nodded, and growled softly, almost like the purring of a cat. Orophin got up, and Haldir mouthed a silent "thank you". Then he followed Rúmil into the darkness.

* * *

After Bramble had been tucked into bed, Haldir settled with Rabbit in front of the fire. His mate was often away for days, and though he knew Rabbit was never too far away and would come if he called for him, Haldir missed him very much, especially when Rabbit took Bramble with him on his excursions, leaving Haldir all alone.

So the Galadhrim enjoyed it all the more that Rabbit had decided to stay here for the night; another pleasant surprise after his completely unexpected appearance this evening. Rabbit held Haldir, who sat in front of him, close to his chest, and chewed gently on his neck and shoulders.

"Rabbit... I have to ask you something. When Orophin and Rúmil were here ... what was wrong?" Haldir finally asked. He was angry with himself for disturbing this rare intimate moment, but he had noticed the confused looks Rabbit had given his older brother, and he wanted to know the reason - he knew Rabbit well enough to know that it must have been something of significance.

Rabbit didn't say anything for a while, but continued his ministrations to Haldir's neck. Finally, he pressed a tender kiss behind the other Elf's ear, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"His scent was not right," he finally said, and Haldir turned around, trying to look into Rabbit's eyes, but his mate held him too tight for this.

"His scent? What do you mean by this?" he asked, puzzled.

Rabbit nipped his neck again.

"His scent. It does not fit yours. He is your brother, so he is of your tribe. But his scent does not fit. It is of another tribe."

Haldir sighed, then chuckled.

"Why are you laughing?" Rabbit asked. It was not exactly the reaction he had expected from his mate.

"I am sorry, Rabbit. I guess I should have told you long ago, but we have sworn each other to secrecy. See - Rúmil, Orophin and I are not brothers by blood. I was brought to the Golden Wood when I was only a few weeks old, Rúmil was the only survivor of an Orc attack on his family when he was an Elfling, and was saved by Lord Elrond, and Orophin – I guess he had the hardest lot of us all. He lived in slavery for the first decades of his life. We all found a new home and a new family. So, naturally, our scent is not the same, but we are as close as brothers by birth could be."

For a moment, they sat in silence, then Haldir added: "Maybe our bond is even closer, for we are brothers by choice and fate. Unfortunately, a lack of family history is considered a blemish by many, so we swore an oath not to reveal our destiny to those outside of our family. But you are my family now, so you should know."

Rabbit kissed Haldir gently, then he shook his head.

"I thank you for telling me this, though you had no need to worry - the conceit of the Elves means little to me. I understand now why Rúmil does not carry the scent of your tribe. But if Orophin is not your brother, who is he then?"

Haldir freed himself from Rabbit's hold and turned around, looking at his mate with a rather confused expression on his face.

"Why - as I just told you, he was an orphan, like me and Rúmil."

Rabbit cocked an eyebrow.

"So he is your cousin then?"

Haldir pinched his eyes - he felt a headache approaching. It was not at all like Rabbit to be so slow on the uptake.

"We are not related. None of us is related to the other - maybe in mind and heart, but not in blood."

"But why does he have the scent of your tribe then?"

Haldir thought he'd scream if he heard the words "scent" and "tribe" once more this night, but he pulled himself together.

"Rabbit - he has not the same scent, for he is not related to me."

Rabbit got up, and stretched his long, lean body.

"Let us go to bed. Do not fret, it is of no importance. But his scent is strong, easy to identify. And though yours is weaker, it is the same."

"Weaker? What do you mean by weaker?" Haldir asked, now having the headache of Mordor.

"Weaker. Watered down. It happens when first born mix with men."

Haldir threw his arms in the air.

"Rabbit! Have you set your mind to drive me out of mine? What is wrong with you tonight? You talk about tribes and scents, and I cannot follow you. I am not like you, Rabbit, I don't have your senses. What are you talking about?"

Rabbit gently held Haldir by the shoulders, looking down at him with the same expression he usually reserved for Bramble when he had to explain something complicated in a way the child could understand.

"Your scent is weaker because of your human ancestry. The mortals have weak scents, for they do not live long enough to imprint nature in their soul."

Haldir shook his head so violently he thought it would burst.

"But I am not a mortal."

Suddenly, realisation dawned to Rabbit.

"Love - have you not known that you are partly human?"

Haldir thought his legs wouldn't be able to carry his weight any more. Seeing his mate's suddenly very pale complexion and the terrified expression in his eyes, Rabbit wondered if it had been wise to reveal his knowledge. It was obvious Haldir hadn't known, and knowing how proud the Lórien Elf was of his Elven heritage, this revelation must have been a horrible shock to him.

Rabbit hugged his mate, gently stroking his hair.

"I am sorry, Haldir. I thought you knew."

Haldir shivered, then he moved out of the embrace, turned around and stormed into the other room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Rabbit sighed, then he settled in front of Haldir's door, holding vigil through the night.

* * *

Erestor never felt more like "Lady Glorfindel" than in moments like these, when the mighty Balrog-slayer prepared to leave on his proud steed to do heroic deeds while he, the boring advisor, stayed at home, looking after the baby and waiting for the hero to return from his work.

He hated it. Not only being separated from Fin, but also feeling more and more like an appendage to him rather than an independent person. By the Valar, all that was missing was him wringing his hands in despair about Fin's departure and sobbing into the sleeve of his robe!

Things had improved a little with Orophin's arrival, though. The quiet Galadhrim had taken up his duties plus some of Erestor's without being asked and without getting into discussions about whether changing nappies or bathing the baby were tasks fitting and honourable for a warrior. He just did what he felt needed doing, and otherwise kept to himself.

Erestor remembered well how he had first called Elrond a fool when the Lord had suggested that Orophin would stay in Imladris, looking after the twins. But it quickly became clear that he doted on the twins, and in return, Elladan and Elrohir had adored their quiet guardian. Twice, he had saved their lives, once when Elladan - who else - had fallen in the Bruinen and almost drowned, and another time Orophin had fought back a band of stray Orcs who had thought the twins playing in the woods would be easy prey. He had fought them back alone - escaping severely wounded, but not a hair on the twin's heads had been bent. For this and all his other services, Orophin had won the eternal gratitude of Lord Elrond, and seeing how lovingly the tall, feral looking Elf cared for Estorel, Erestor had enclosed him in his heart as well.

At the moment, Orophin was on his way to the House of Healing. The night before his departure, Glorfindel had been in one of his more peculiar moods, insisting that Orophin bring Estorel to the Healing House for a general check-up the next day. The baby was as healthy as one of the birds singing above, so Erestor most certainly didn't see the reason for Fin's persistence, especially as Elrond would not be on duty, but Elladan.

But Fin had simply waved off Erestor's protests, muttering something about "prevention" and "better safe than sorry", and he had a mischievous expression on his face.

"Fin," Erestor had said, "you are up to something. And I would very much like to know what this 'something' is."

Glorfindel had only grinned and planted a big, wet, sloppy kiss on Erestor's lips, an action which had proven in the past to be most efficient when it came to shutting up the advisor.

"I am afraid this is a business of highest secrecy, my dear, so I cannot tell you what this 'something' is, but if you are a good little advisor and tell the chef to skip the steamed snails for a day or two, I might show you some thing tonight that you will find most enchanting."

With that, he began unfastening Erestor's tunic, and though the advisor tried very hard to look stern, he literally melted under Fin's skilled hands.

"You know," he muttered around Fin's demanding lips, "I really do not like you very much."

Fin grinned, dropping Erestor's robe.

"This is most splendid, Erestor, for I do not like you either, so we can spend the rest of eternity despising each other."

Finding himself covered by one very eager Balrog-slayer nibbling on his ear, Erestor asked: "Are you sure you mean 'despising' and not 'devouring', Fin?"

Glorfindel, busy kissing his way down Erestor's chest, quipped: "Who knows, dear Erestor – you know how bad I am with words."

He continued his journey further down Erestor's body, which prompted the advisor to gasp: "This may be - but you are very good with your tongue!"

* * *

Elladan was washing some herbs in a wooden bowl when Orophin entered, carefully balancing the basket with Estorel on his arms, for he refused to carry the basket by its handle. "It is an Elfling, not two pounds of potatoes," he used to say when Erestor tried to convince Orophin to carry his son the "proper" way, an argumentation Erestor couldn't deny a certain logic.

Elrond's oldest son turned around, his eyes lit up when he saw who had come for a visit, and he blushed, something he did a lot lately. Orophin had well noticed, and allowed himself a small smile.

"Greetings, Master Orophin", Elladan said with forced merriment, and Orophin returned the welcome with a short nod.

"Mae govannen, young lord."

One, two, three, breathe, one, two, three, it is only Orophin, one, two, three, oh my god, it is OROPHIN! One, two three ... Elladan went through every trick in the book to stop his skin from flushing and his breath from coming faster, but to no avail. He was fidgeting, dropping this and that, talking nonsense with hardly a break to take a breath, and the more he tried to appear the normal, confident and calm healer, the more he looked and behaved like a hyperventilating youngster nervous about the first encounter with his loved one.

Orophin watched Elladan's performance with increasing amusement; after the young one had dropped the same bowl for the fourth time and looked like letting Estorel drop as well, the Galadhrim decided it was time to step in.

"...and so I said to Elrohir, 'Elrohir' I said, 'maybe the swords of Gondor are of good quality, but they can't compare to the ones our own smith's forge, and he said 'Elladan', that's what he said, 'you have no idea', and so naturally, I got upset, and ..."

"Young lord ..." Orophin tried to interrupt the stream of babbling.

"...then we were discussing the Lórien bows in comparison with our own, and it was 'Elladan, you have no clue' again, so I told him: 'Elrohir', I said, 'you really should ...'"

"Elladan. Do not forget to breathe."

The younger Elf stopped in mid-sentence, staring at Orophin open-mouthed. Oh ye Valar, he had made a complete fool out of himself again! Now Orophin surely thought him to be even more of a clumsy child than he previously did, and Elladan seriously wished he had the ability to kick himself up the backside.

Orophin smiled warmly at the flustered young elf, resting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture which was intended to be calming, but for Elladan, Orophin's touch was all but soothing, and he hung his head in shame, shuffling his feet and preparing for one of the dry, sarcastic remarks Orophin was notorious for - indeed, a word by him could kill just as effectively as one of his arrows.

"My apologies for interrupting your tale, young lord, I would love to hear the rest of it, but should we not care for your patient first?"

Elladan's head shot up - such friendly words were the last thing he had expected.

"Oh ... yes ... sure, you are right ... my apologies ..." he muttered, and turned his attention to Estorel, who had slept all through the commotion.

"He is beautiful", Elladan sighed, and gently stroked the baby's head.

"Yes, indeed," Orophin confirmed, and he added: "You were a very fair Elfling, too."

"Was I? From what I heard, Elrohir was fairer than I."

This came out a little more bitter than intended, and Orophin wondered if he had said anything wrong. Of course, maybe it was not too intelligent a move to remind the one you pursue of the fact that you are so much older than him that you used to change his nappies when he was an Elfling ...

"You were both very fair." Orophin finally said, and, looking at Elladan, he hastily added: "And you still are."

Elladan briefly flirted with the idea that this "you" had been meant as a general remark on both himself and his twin brother, but the look in Orophin's eyes left no doubt, not even to him, that the Galadhrim had just paid him a compliment.

"Thank you", Elladan said, and smiled shyly at Orophin, who fought hard with himself, for a part of his mind insisted that somebody who smiled in such an enchanting way should be rewarded with a long and thorough kiss, while the other, more sensible part of his brain flashed pictures of Lord Elrond (in full armour, cinescape and technicolor), wielding a sword, which was enough to scare even the most courageous heart.

Since Orophin was a warrior, the rational part won the battle, and he returned his attention to Estorel. He gently lifted the sleeping baby out of the basket, and Elladan quickly checked the Elfling over, but as expected, everything was fine. Estorel woke up, blinking at Elladan, then one tiny hand reached out to tangle in a strand of Elladan's hair.

"Ouch! You have quite a tug for such a young one!" the twin laughed, and the baby giggled.

Elladan freed his hair and tickled the baby, who began to giggle and squeak, then he turned to Orophin.

"All is fine with him. Glorfindel and Erestor need not worry, he is as healthy as he can be. Of course…" Elladan added, a little unsure, "… you can come back later when Ada is here, surely his word weighs more than mine, but I cannot see anything being wrong with Estorel."

Orophin looked straight into Elladan's eyes.

"Your word is as good to me as Lord Elrond's. And you were right about the hair colour, too."

Elladan sighed, looking at Estorel who lay in the basket again, sucking on his fist.

"Ai – Mauburz will be delighted – another red-haired Elf in Imladris. Glorfindel will have a fit."

Estorel, who cared little for everybody's worry about the shade of his hair, got bored and tried to suck on his big toe, which, Elladan thought, was cute beyond belief.

Finally, Orophin picked up the basket again, and Elladan went to the door, attempting to open it.

"So when will you tell me the end of your tale, young lord?" Orophin asked, standing in the doorway.

"Tale? What tale?" Elladan asked confused.

"The one about you, Elrohir and Lórien bows in comparison with Imladris bows which I so rudely interrupted."

Elladan stared at Orophin, wondering if he had misheard.

"You – you mean you really want to hear this?"

Orophin nodded.

"Indeed. And I might be able to tell you some things about Lórien and its bows you did not know."

Elladan was all flustered, and he couldn't believe his luck – Orophin wanted to spend time with him? Talk to him? Listen to him? This was more, far more than he could have ever hoped for.

"I would love to – I mean, if you have time for this."

"I have, otherwise I would not have asked. I am on duty till dusk – shall we meet in the tavern?"

Elladan had a big smile on his face, a smile Orophin thought would outshine even the sun.

"Yes! I will be there!"

Orophin nodded, and stepped out into the afternoon, while Elladan made a spontaneous somersault over the examination table, for once without crashing furniture or breaking a limb.

* * *

"If you brush your hair one more time, you will be bald, Orophin," Rúmil joked, watching his brother applying what was at least the 1000th stroke to his long, silver blond hair.

"And if you do not stop with your pitiful attempts at humour, I shall shear your head, and you can wear a knitted cap for the rest of the winter." his brother threatened, and finally put the brush aside, throwing back his mane. He slipped into his tunic, buttoned it up and closed the jerkin over it.

Orophin wasn't one to care for clothes, he preferred the colours of the earth to the vivid colours Rúmil liked, but he didn't want to look the Galadhrim tonight. The tunic was of a soft fabric in a mossy green, the jerkin of fine, grey leather, and both garments emphasized the colour of his eyes. He took a last look in the mirror. Acceptable.

"Pray tell, Orophin – what innocent Elf do you intend to bed tonight?" Rúmil grinned, watching his brother's efforts with increasing amusement.

"None." was the short answer, and Orophin reached for his cloak.

"None? Oh, come on – you are talking to me here, dear brother. Admit it – you are out to taste the sweet fruits of Imladris, and who could blame you – there are some rather fair and tasty fruits available here."

"That is not what I have in mind. I will only meet up with Elladan for a glass of wine, he asked me for advice about our archery training."

Now this was a blatant lie, of course, but Orophin didn't feel the need to discuss this issue with Rúmil.

"Orophin. Is this wise?" his younger brother asked while he buried his hands in the pockets of his breeches.

"What could be unwise about exchanging our knowledge of archery skills?"

"I am not a fool, Orophin. I have well noticed how your eyes follow the young one."

Rúmil stepped behind his older brother, resting his hand on his shoulder.

"Do not think that I meddle with your business, Orophin – I only mean well, and if I can spare you heartache, I will."

Orophin caught his brother's gaze in the mirror, and sighed.

"Do not worry for me, Rúmil. I shall not do anything which could get me in trouble."

Rúmil shook his head.

"You are not like me, Orophin. You do not take matters of the heart lightly. Your heart is a precious thing, and I would hate to see it go to waste."

Orophin frowned, and tried to say something, but Rúmil didn't let him.

"There is no need to defend the young one, Orophin. I know he would never consciously harm you or play foul. But even his kind heart cannot change the fact that he is the son and heir of Lord Elrond, and never, even if they respect you, would his family accept a mere Galadhrim in their midst. We don't have their wealth or their connections, and we do not even have a name."

The older Elf didn't answer, for Rúmil had only spoken aloud the fears he carried in his heart as well, and really, what was there to add?

"Please be careful, Orophin. I do not want to see you hurt."

Orophin turned around, gazing down at Rúmil lovingly.

"You are a true friend and brother, Rúmil, and I appreciate your concern. I promise you, I will be careful."

He pressed a soft kiss on his younger brother's brow, then he left, heading off to meet up with Elladan.

Rúmil stepped to the window, his eyes following his brother's figure till he could see him no more, then he sighed deeply.

This would not end well.

* * *  
Elladan and Orophin sat in a corner of the tavern, each with a glass of sweet red wine in front of them, and after an initial mutual shyness, they had quickly engaged in a lively discussion – lively in so far as Elladan talked and Orophin listened, occasionally uttering an "ah", "I see" or "hm". He loved to listen to Elladan's chatter, and the young Imladris Elf equally enjoyed the company of the Galadhrim. They were talking about their realms, families, fancies and worries, and time passed like a breeze by the sea. Two minstrels were entertaining the guests, there was laughter in the air and the smell of wine and mead, and nobody bothered the two Elves who were gazing at each other dotingly.

The wine had been sweet, and more intoxicating than they had noticed, so when the two finally got up, Elladan swayed a little, and Orophin steadied his arm.

"Oops, I guess I am a little tipsy!" Elladan announced, and Orophin laughed. "A little, indeed!"

Elladan liked Orophin's laughter. It was deep and throaty, as if there was rust on his voice, but at the same time warm and winning. 'He does not laugh nearly enough', he thought, 'I like the small wrinkles he gets in the corner of his eyes when he laughs.'

The two Elves stepped out into the cold night air, their breath white steam, and the night frost was sewing closed Elladan's nose with an icy needle.

"Huh! It is cold!" the younger Elf said, shuddering slightly. Orophin cocked his head, surprised, then he remembered that Elladan was not full-Elven and felt the cold more than he did.

"Would you like my cloak?" he asked, offering the garment to the twin, who shook his head, but stared at him, cheeks flushed from the wine, eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

"No, but I need to warm up, anyway," Elladan grinned, and maybe it was the wine, or it was the night, or it was simply because he had been longing to do so for a long time, but before Orophin could say anything, Elladan had slung his arms around his neck and pressed his lips on the Lórien Elf's.

Orophin stood there as if frozen; this had come so unexpectedly, and Elladan's heart sank when he noticed the Galadhrim didn't react. By the Valar – had he just made a terrible mistake? Read all the signs wrong? Made a fool out of himself?

Any further thoughts were cut off when Orophin relaxed, putting his arms around Elladan and pressing the younger Elf close to his body. He finally parted his lips, allowing Elladan access, and by Elbereth, was this kiss sweet! Orophin's head was spinning, Elladan's body, moulded closely to his own, was radiating heat despite the layers of fabric and leather that separated them, and he felt the heat rise in his own body, spreading through every vein and vessel, waking a need and a longing of an intensity Orophin had never experienced before.

Finally, their lips parted, less by free choice than by lack of oxygen, and when they looked at each others’ flushed faces, both Elves began to laugh, and if someone had been there to witness this remarkable scene, he would have been treated to a sound like two crystal glasses clinking together.

But as the two were all alone, the only one who enjoyed the scene was the moon, who decided not to comment on it.

* * *

Haldir had shed all his clothes and stood in front of the long mirror in his bedchamber. It had been a present from his mother – now how ironic was that, he thought – given to him with the half mocking, half serious advice not to stand in front of it too often, for he was already vain enough.

It was, however, not vanity that drove Haldir to muster his mirror image now. Rabbit's words were gnawing at him – had his mate been right? If so – how had it been possible not to notice anything? Haldir knew that Elrond and the twins felt the cold more than full-elves did – and the twins were really far more than half-Elven, 3/3 or 7/8 or something equally complicated.

As far as Elrohir was concerned, there were no differences – he was as fair as any Elf, or even more so, and despite the occasional head cold and shivering spell in winter, there was not the slightest hint that would have indicated Elrond's youngest son was not full-Elven.

Elladan, on the other hand… beside his legendary clumsiness, he was more heavily built, that was true. Haldir examined his mirror image again, taking in the strong arms and broad chest – true, he was not willowy lean like Rúmil, but certainly, there were other Elves who were a bit on the – stronger side?

Assuming that Rabbit was right – and so far, he had never erred – why had Haldir never noticed anything unusual? His senses were as sharp as any Elf's, cold didn't bother him, nor did heat, and hadn't he lived for many millennia already? Why had the Valar not asked him to choose?

Haldir's world was falling apart – he really didn't know anymore who he was, he already heard the hushing and whispering that would ensue behind his back once the truth – if it was the truth – came out. Would he be looked down upon? How often had he witnessed snide remarks about Elrond and the twins, about lady Arwen even – muffled remarks, and not spoken aloud, for who would have dared to insult the family of the Lord and the Lady? And he, Haldir, could not hide behind a big name or a famous family – as a matter of fact, he didn't even know the Elf who had committed the indecency of bedding a mortal woman and fathering him.

His mother – it hit Haldir like a bolt of lighting that his mother had not been an Elven noble lady, killed by Orcs, as Celeborn had told him, not a myth which had grown to unearthly beauty over the millennia in Haldir's fantasy, but a mortal woman who, after giving birth to him, had probably lived only a few decades and then withered away and died.

He was surprised at the pain he felt – somehow, this felt more real, and even if he wished that Rabbit had been wrong, Haldir knew, deep in his heart, that his lover had spoken the truth. There was only one who could shed some light on this – Lord Celeborn.

And what about Orophin? Maybe he was a cousin, or even a lost brother, he had not even reached majority when Celeborn had brought him to Amrun and Mya – yes, maybe he was kin. Haldir needed to talk to Celeborn, for he wouldn't know a moment’s peace until he learned the truth.

Haldir dropped to his knees, still staring at the Elf in the mirror, who had become a stranger to him.

"Who are you," he whispered, touching the smooth, cold surface with the tips of his fingers.

But there was no answer, and the Elf in the mirror began to cry.

* * *

Orophin's presence meant that Erestor could attend all meetings again, and only now, that he was back, did Elrond realise how much he had actually missed him. It was so easy to get used to the quiet, slim, black-clad figure by his side, whispering a word of advice or warning when appropriate, but by the Valar, those advices and warnings had been missed – Elrond relied on Erestor, he was his crutch and his strength, and the Lord of Imladris hoped that Fin and Erestor wouldn't expand their family any time soon. Paperwork had collected, the books were in a desolate condition and during meetings, Erestor's calming, sensible presence and occasionally sharp tongue had been painfully missed, resulting in heated debates and a general aggressive atmosphere.

Now that he was back, Elrond was more aware of Erestor, and he noticed things he had never noticed before – how straight he stood, how his black hair flowed over his shoulders like the water of the Bruinen in winter, how his dark eyes sparkled – and how very much Erestor was in love with Glorfindel. Indeed, even when his seneschal's name was mentioned in a mundane connection, such as unpaid bills at the tavern, Erestor's eyes lit up like a candle in the dark, and Elrond couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous of the Balrog-slayer – he had a mate who loved him, a home and this precious little Elfling.

And what did he have, the Lord of Imladris? Here he was, sitting in his study, which had turned from a homely place to a museum, with memories of his lost loved ones to the left and right. There was Gil-galad in shining armour, looking regal and boring in the painting, but how could any painter have caught the adorable expression on his face when he slept? And the illumination of his beloved Celebrían, lying on a white fur – the picture had captured her beauty for all eternity, but not her laughter, or her sometimes rude jokes, so unexpected from a noble lady, and while the artist had carefully painted her lovely features, he could not portray her wicked sense of humour or the touch of her hands on his skin.

"Ada – it is your turn."

Elrohir had noticed his father's brooding look, and tried to distract him. They were gathered around the small table, a game of chess between them. Erestor sat close by, watching the game while he gave Estorel the bottle; standing behind him, an ever-present shadow, was Orophin.

"My apologies, Elrohir – my thoughts were wandering." Elrond said, bowing his head in apology. Estorel complained when Erestor took away the bottle for a minute to give the baby some time to breathe before the next round of feeding, and Elrond smiled.

"Penneth, still hungry? My, you have an appetite."

Then, with a pleading look to Erestor, Elrond asked: "Would you mind if I held him for a moment?"

Erestor was a little surprised by the request, but of course he immediately agreed.

"But certainly, my lord – you have more experience with Elflings than I have, after all."

He got up, and carefully placed Estorel in Elrond's arms. The lord smiled, and started to talk to Estorel in the language most adults use when talking to babies, under the erroneous impression that the wee ones would think this to be cute. As a matter of fact, Estorel thought it was about the silliest thing he had ever heard, but as he couldn't speak yet, he settled for giggling, which only encouraged Elrond in his attempts to entertain the Elfling.

Fin used to talk to Estorel as if he was a grown-up, stating that there were enough childish individuals in Imladris already, and that his son was wiser than all of Elrond's council, and even produced twice the waste.

Elrond looked at Erestor, and smiled.

"Ai – 't is wonderful when they are this small. But they grow up so quickly – seems like yesterday my children were born. Sometimes," he added, a sad look sneaking into his eyes, "I wish I could turn back time and enjoy those years again. They were the happiest of my life."

Elrohir gently stroked his father's arm.

"Do not be sad, Ada – you have your lovely grandchild, do not forget! And Arwen's little one is cute as a button, is he not?"

Elrond nodded. "This is true, he is very fair, like his mother, and thankfully cleaner than his father, but they are so far away, I do not see them nearly often enough. And I guess I shall be in the Undying Lands before you decide to settle down and have some Elflings of your own!"

Elrohir blushed, and if Elrond hadn't been so occupied with Estorel, he might have noticed and asked some questions.

"Ai, I shall not complain. Elladan will settle down with a noble maiden and give Imladris an heir – so I shall sit and wait in patience and spoil this little gem here rotten in the meantime."

Erestor and Elrohir laughed, and Elrond joined in, but there was a shadow falling over Orophin's face, and his heart grew heavy with sorrow.

* * *

The Galadhrim arrived when dinner had almost finished. He looked tired and worn, the dust of the road covered him, and it was plain that urgent business had brought him to Rivendell. He bowed deeply in front of Lord Elrond, then he took a scroll out of his bag.

"I have a message from the Lady Galadriel for you, my lord. It is most urgent, and she insists that her orders are carried out immediately and without any delay."

Elrond cocked an eyebrow – now this certainly didn't sound promising. He took the scroll from the hands of the messenger, broke the seal and read. The frown between his eyes deepened, and every conversation at the table stopped, all eyes resting on Elrond. Finally, he dropped the scroll, and it was clear to see that he was angry.

"Bad tidings, my lord?" Erestor asked, knowing his lord well enough to see that he was upset.

"Yes, bad tidings, dear Erestor." Elrond answered, then he turned to Orophin, who sat with the other Elves of lower rank on a seat further down the table.

"Orophin – the Lady Galadriel orders you to leave for Tíngel forest this very night. The troops there need reinforcement."

Erestor and Elladan got up at the same time, protesting.

"My lord, this is not possible!"

"Ada, you cannot allow this!"

Elrond made a calming gesture.

"Please, sit down again. Erestor – Elladan – peace. I am not the one to order Orophin, he is sworn to Galadriel, there is nothing I can do about this, though I must say that I am most displeased with this unexpected development and shall farspeak to her to let her know my feelings about it."

Which translated in: 'Galadriel, this is your son-in-law speaking. Been in the sun too long?'

Everybody talked at once, till finally, Orophin got up.

"As you say, my lord – I am sworn to the Lady Galadriel, and her order I obey. I shall leave immediately. Please excuse me, I need to pack my bags."

With that, he left, and when Elladan wanted to follow him, Elrohir held him back.

"This is the wrong moment, Elladan", he said, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Do you know Tíngel Forest, Elrohir?" Elladan asked, his eyes still fixed on Orophin's back.

"I have heard about it."

"Then you know that no moment can be wrong to stop him from going there."

Elrohir shook his head.

"Do not interfere with grandmother's wishes, Elladan - she can be horrible in her wrath."

Elladan's eyes were sparkling with a dangerous light.

"So can I, Elrohir, so can I."

* * *  
Orophin looked calm and concentrated while he checked the girth one last time and fixed his bags to the saddle, but there was a turmoil in his heart he had never experienced before. He was no fool - he could well imagine why the lady had called him off and sent away to the outermost border of the realm, where nine out of ten Galadhrim lost their lives, where doing duty was a life-sentence, not an honour – a place as far away from Elladan as possible.

Sure, the message had spoken of "urgent business", of "security for Lothlorien" - but Orophin was a mere Galadhrim, he had no skills which would have made him so valuable that his absence would have had any consequences for the security of the realm. So the only conclusion left was that Galadriel knew of his infatuation with her grandson, and had found him to be an unwelcome suitor.

So Rúmil had been right all along - it could never be. Never would Elladan's family tolerate a simple border guard among them, not to mention one without a family, and no matter how friendly they were to him, even if they showed him respect - he could never be equal. It had been folly, and he should have known.

A cold wisp of air blew through the stable when Elladan pushed the gate open. He had been looking for Orophin high and low, almost panicking at the thought that the Galadhrim might leave without the chance of saying farewell.

"Orophin!" Elladan called, and Orophin started. Why did the young one have to come here? - he had hoped to leave without a painful farewell.

"You cannot leave - I do not want you to leave! And you do not want to go, either - I know it!"

Elladan's voice was wavering with barely suppressed anger, and Orophin pressed his forehead to the cool leather of his saddle, closing his eyes.

"My young lord - I must obey the order of the Lady of the Woods. What I want is of no importance."

The words were calm, but Elladan heard well the unhappiness underneath.

"I could talk to grandmother, sure she would understand, and I..."

"No. Young lord, this is not a matter which is any of your concern. I am a servant of the Golden Wood, sworn to protect it, with my life, if needed. I must keep that oath."

Elladan shook his head. This was all wrong.

"Orophin ..." he began, lightly resting his hand on the Galadhrim's shoulder, but he shook it off, turning his head away.

"Please ... young lord ... do not try to hold me back. I am not free to make a decision, and I have to obey."

Elladan shook his head.

"Stop talking to me like this, Orophin. I ... you must know that ... what I feel ..."

He broke off, unable to put his thoughts and feelings in words. Surely Orophin must have realized that he had Elladan's heart?

Orophin hit his fist on the saddle, startling the horse.

"My lord - please do not speak any further, and please leave. My Lady would not approve of this discussion, nor would your father. It is not appropriate."

"Appropriate?" Elladan asked, his face taking on an expression of utter disbelief.

"Why do you speak in such a cold way, Orophin - I know you... I thought you would..."

Orophin spun around, unable to bear the tension any longer. He grabbed Elladan by the collar of his tunic, and slammed him hard against the stable wall. The wood rattled, and a terrified rat hurried across the straw for a safe hiding place.

"Elladan! Stop it! Can you not see what you are doing to me? How can I live on when I..."

Yes, how could he live on when he had to remember those grey eyes, Elladan's hurt expression, the reflection of the moonlight playing on the dark hair, how could he live on with the memory of the warm, hard body under his hands, and the certain knowledge that he would never, never be his. How could he? And how could he tell Elladan?

"When you what?" Elladan whispered, not moving a muscle even when Orophin's fingers dug painfully hard into his flesh. He leant forward as much as Orophin's firm hold allowed, but Orophin moved away.

"Do not do this, Elladan. It is not right," the Galadhrim hissed, his breath ragged and face flushed. The Valar knew how much discipline and willpower it cost him not to give in and take what he had craved for so long. If only Elladan would see, and let him go.

But Elladan was determined. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek on Orophin's hand which was still resting firmly on his shoulder.

"Enough!" Orophin hissed, and slammed Elladan several times against the wall, "why are you doing this to me... why do you torment me so... would you really want me to take you here, on the floor? Is this what you want? Is it?"

Tears ran down Elladan's cheeks, and it was hard to tell whether they were caused by grief or anger.

"I do not mind when and how, Orophin ... I only know that I want to be yours, only yours, where I do not care, either, I do not care what father says or what grandmother thinks, I want you, Orophin, I want you, I love you..." he sobbed, and his tears were more than Orophin could take. He let go of the younger Elf, and Elladan threw himself in his arms, clutching onto him like his life depended on it, and it probably did.

Orophin closed his eyes. It felt so good to hold Elladan, even better than the night before. He felt so - right. And this made the knowledge that this love couldn't be even more painful. But at least it was something he could remember when he was on watch in some Valar forsaken Orc-infested forest.

Elladan muttered some incoherent words, raking his hands over Orophin's back, lips seeking for his mouth. For the fraction of a second, Orophin considered avoiding what was to come, but in the end, he gave in.

Unlike their first kiss, this was not a gentle one. Nothing was gentle about this encounter between two warriors, tongues were duelling for dominance and strong hands left marks; Orophin bit Elladan's lip and the metallic taste of blood mixed with the saltiness of Elladan's tears, but nothing could have stopped them now.

Elladan hooked his leg behind Orophin's knee, an old battle trick which didn't fail its purpose, and the surprised Galadhrim fell and hit the floor hard before he had the time to react. Luckily, there was some straw; otherwise he'd have ended up with a concussion, no doubt.

The thought that Elladan was neither clumsy nor slow when it came to this crossed Orophin's mind, before Elladan kissed him again and drove out even the last coherent thought from the Galadhrim's brain. His head was spinning, never would he have expected such passion and strength from Elladan, and never before had he been held in such an iron grip, one strong hand tangled in his hair, the other roaming over his body.

"Who said that you would take me, Orophin? Have you thought me weak?" Elladan hissed, claiming the older Elf's mouth once again, "Do you still think me to be an Elfling? You had better readjust your judgement, for I am neither."

He ground hard into Orophin, there was neither a system nor a rhythm in his movements; he was driven in equal parts by passion and desperation, but this did not diminish the sensations which overwhelmed Orophin. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a nagging voice told him to put a stop to this, to get up and leave, but how could he have followed this voice of reason, with the sight of Elladan above him, beautiful and terrifying alike in his passion, tearing open Orophin's tunic and jerkin with one grip, then seeing the dark-haired Elf move down to rasp his tongue over a nipple. He had always imagined himself being the one to initiate this, to take the lead - but Elladan was in charge, and this whole new side to the younger Elf made him even more irresistible in the Galadhrim's eyes.

By now, Elladan had pulled the tunic completely out of Orophin's breeches, ripping a seam or two in the process. Now he was licking slowly a wet trail from Orophin's throat down to the top of his breeches, always keeping his grey eyes fixed to Orophin's green ones, and the Galadhrim started to fear for his sanity.

Elladan would do it. He really would. He would take him here on the floor, and Orophin knew he would not be able to depart once he had given himself to Elladan. He had to leave, now, while there was still time. Elladan would get over it, forget about him and find a nice noble maiden to marry, he would have a couple of Elflings, become the Lord of Imladris or whatever realm was at disposition in the Havens, and this was the way it was supposed to be.

Orophin collected whatever he had left of his wit, and struggled under Elladan, trying to roll him off. The younger Elf was stronger than he thought, but eventually, Orophin had straddled him, and before Elladan's body under his made him lose the last bit of common sense he had, his fist shot down, hitting Elladan right on his weakest spot, and the young Elf lost consciousness immediately.

Orophin panted hard atop of him, struggled to his feet and picked Elladan up, carrying him to a soft bed of hay. He laid him down carefully, then he bound his hands and feet with a rope - not too tight, but tight enough to keep him in place till Orophin had reached the borders of Imladris. He wanted to avoid under all circumstances that the young one could follow him.

Finally, he knelt down beside Elladan, stroking his face and pressing a last kiss to his lips.

"Namaarië, loved one."

He felt tears burn in his eyes, and angrily wiped them away. He would not cry. He was strong. He needed to be strong. And maybe the Valar would have mercy on him and let him die fast, for he doubted he could bear the pain he felt in his heart looking down at the young one.

Orophin turned around, got on his horse and rode out into the night. When Elladan woke up, he had already left Imladris and was on his way to Tíngel Forest.

The place no Elf left alive.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the time passes by, the situation for Orophin becomes more and more hopeless; meanwhile, Erestor decides to play cupido.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

From a healer's point of view, sitting by a river in wintertime and freezing one's backside off was not exactly a recommendable thing, but the depressing sight of the black, roaring waters of the Bruinen suited Elladan's mood, so he was not complaining.

Two weeks had passed since one of the stable grooms had found him, lying bound in the straw. It must have been one of the most embarrassing moments in his life, and he was sure that, by now, every Elf in Rivendell, if not also every Hobbit in the Shire, knew what a pathetic figure the heir of Imladris was, and without a doubt, they were all laughing behind his back.

'Heir of Imladris', Elladan thought, 'if that is not a joke, then I do not know what is.' Not a joke, no – a yoke. A yoke which rested on his neck like a sack of flour and grew heavier every day.

Just like his heart.

At first, he had been furious with Orophin for catching him out like this, for leaving him behind – for leaving him at all. Then pain had won out over anger, and on the second day, Elladan had been filled with an all-consuming sadness. If he had not been the oldest son of Elrond, he wouldn't have hesitated to saddle the next best horse and ride out, after Orophin, to stand and fight by his side. But as it was, he had a duty to stay here. There was nobody he could talk to, for nobody knew about his love for Orophin – well, Glorfindel did, but he was still out on patrol with Rúmil, most probably very busy making the Galadhrim's life as uncomfortable as possible.

"Elladan, penneth – I am pleased to see you are interested in nature's beauty, but maybe you should postpone further studies of the Bruinen's flow till spring time. Unless you sit here in the snow to keep your backside fresh, of course."

Elladan's head snapped up, and he was surprised to see Erestor standing close by. The advisor was, as usual, dressed in black, a heavy cloak of the same colour covering his frame, and he carried Estorel in a length of soft cloth, tied around his torso. The baby was wrapped up in so many clothes, blankets and covers that nothing could be seen of him save the tip of a tiny, pointed ear. Glorfunkle was hovering above the tall Elf, his black eyes watching Elladan.

"I was seeking solitude, Master Erestor," Elladan muttered, hoping that his father's chief advisor would get the hint and leave. He felt no need for company.

"It certainly looks to me like you have found it. So, with this task completed, I would be most grateful if you would accompany me back to my chambers. It is very cold out here, I am tired, and I hope you will spare me the effort to carry you and follow me of your own free will."

Elladan knew this tone. It was the 'do not even consider refusing' one; nobody could wrap up thorns quite as nicely as Erestor, and the more carefully chosen his words, the more was hidden behind them.

"I suppose you will not take a 'no' for an answer, will you," Elladan asked, already preparing to get up.

"Your supposition is, as always, correct," Erestor answered with a sly smile, watching the older twin brush the snow from his breeches, while Glorfunkle landed on Erestor’s shoulder and started to peck at his braids. The advisor was tenderly stroking the ear of the baby resting against his chest, while Estorel purred.

"He seems to like that," Elladan remarked, giving the baby a warm smile.

"Do we not all?" Erestor answered, then he turned around, and Elladan followed him back through the snow to the Last Homely House, up the stairs, and finally into the chambers of Erestor and Glorfindel.

* * *

Lothlórien was endless, both in size and age. There were parts of the Golden Wood no Galadhrim's foot had touched for many millennia, and nature had taken over, grown wild and dangerous. Here, the branches of the trees were interwoven like the fingers of two hands, and no sunlight touched the moss-covered ground, the shadows grew longer and longer, and finally, darkness spread over this part like a shroud.

This was Tíngel Forest – a place which had become a hiding ground for Evil, be it Orcs or spiders, and Celeborn had suspected more than once that this was where the forces of darkness were concentrating, preparing for one last, final attack on all things fair and good. There were no animals in this forest, no birds singing, only the barking of the Wargs could be heard, or the occasional hissing of poisonous spiders which made their Mirkwood kin look like fluffy toys.

To top this all, it was constantly raining in Tíngel, and so Orophin, who held watch, was soaked to the bones and cold. The atmosphere of this place weakened his defences. The chill he felt was not so much from the temperature and the wet, but a chill in his heart. Fear was lurking in these woods, and the presence of evil could be felt at all times. Hundreds if not thousands of invisible eyes were watching him. The enemy was close, and sensing but not seeing that presence - never having the chance to subdue - was more nerve-wracking than any battle could have been.

"Galadriel should have followed Lord Celeborn's advice," Turmil, one of the longest-serving Galadhrim here had told Orophin on the day of his arrival, "to send strong forces here and clear this place of the vermin once and for all, but no, Madame didn't want to part with her personal guard, so here we are, trying to combat evil with no chance of success, while Madame organises pretty parades in Lothlórien and worries whether pink uniforms might suit the Galadhrim better than grey ones."

Turmil was a battle-experienced warrior, a huge scar from an Orc blade ran all the way from his left brow to his cheek. He had been sent here after a row with his commanding captain which had ended in a fight, and under normal circumstances, Orophin would have protested the other Elf's criticism of the Lady Galadriel, but as she was the reason he sat here in the first place, his motivation to speak for her was at an all-time low.

Since his arrival, three of his comrades had already died. One had been sucked dry by a spider while on watch, one had been maimed by a Warg, and the third – well, his fate was difficult to tell, as the few remains found on the morrow yielded insufficient information.

They ran into Orcs almost every day, and it had become clear to Orophin that Tíngel Forest was not as bad as its reputation, but worse. It was said that only one in ten Elves would leave this place alive, but this was a lie – one in thirty, maybe.

Galadriel had sent him to almost certain death – this was the most confusing thing about it. It was not like her to do such a thing. Certainly, he had not expected her to break out in song and dance upon hearing the news of her grandson's involvement with a mere Galadhrim, but in times past, she would have called Orophin in front of her, demanding to hear the full story, and finally, she would have made a fair judgement, even if she disapproved. But this? Something was wrong in Lothlórien, Orophin knew it, and he wished he was not trapped here so he could investigate.

And he really, really wished he could see Elladan again – just once. Orophin felt awful about the way he had left him, but at the time, he had seen no other way of stopping the young Elf from riding after him. The nagging little voice in the back of his head kept insinuating that the son of Elrond certainly would not have risked his neck to ride after a simple guardian, anyway. But Orophin would have followed Elladan to Mordor and back – why should it be different for the younger Elf? 'Because he knows where his priorities are, you fool', the little voice answered, and Orophin shook his head.

Elladan. Every time he thought of the young one, his heart skipped a beat, and he missed him painfully, but at the same time, the memories of his touch, his scent, his laughter, his kisses were like a light, warming Orophin and shining upon his troubled soul, and when he was close to despair on the dark, rainy, moonless nights on watch, it was the memory of Elladan that kept him going. He would survive – he wanted to see Elladan again. And the Orc or spider or Warg was not yet born that would keep him from doing this.

Orophin pulled the hood of his cloak further down his face and walked over to Turmil, who lay sleeping in his bedroll under the protecting roof of a makeshift tent. Orophin frowned when he heard the rattling breath of the other Elf – colds had been unheard off among the Firstborn, except for Elrond, the twins or Arwen, 'thanks' to their human heritage, but here, the normal rules seemed not to apply, everybody suffered from this strange illness which hurt the lungs and made breathing difficult, and Orophin was also feeling the first treacherous stings in his chest.

He crouched down, gently touching Turmil's shoulder and shaking him - it was two hours before sunrise, time for the changing of the guard.

* * *

The sudden heat made Elladan's skin tingle and nose run, and he desperately wished he had something to blow his nose on – using his sleeve was absolutely no option.

Erestor, ever the observant Elf, passed him one of Fin's hankies without comment.

"Thank you," Elladan said, then dropped into one of the two comfy chairs which were gathered around a small side table in front of the fireplace. A game of chess, half played only, was laid out on it, awaiting Fin's return.

Erestor peeled the baby out of the many layers of cloth, and disappeared into the adjoining nursery, followed by his crow, to change Estorel's nappies and clothing. Fifteen minutes later, he was back, the baby on his arm and a bottle of warm milk peeking out of the pocket of his robe.

"So, now that I finally have you here where I wanted you, I shall not neglect my duties as a host any longer," Erestor said, and rang the bell. Soon after, a servant knocked on the door, asking the advisor's wishes.

"Two Fried Balrogs, mine low on the alcohol, please," Erestor ordered; the servant bowed and made an exit, promising he would bring the desired beverage immediately.

"'Fried Balrog'? What is this? I have never heard of such a beverage."

Erestor gave the young lord a small smile.

"It is a draught which was most probably created by the Valar, or at least by Glorfindel's grandmother, who, so he claims, used it to charm his grandfather. Like most stories of my beloved mate, this one should be encountered with a healthy dose of doubt, but it is delightful, hot, and just the thing you need, my friend."

With that, he settled down in the chair opposite Elladan, and started to feed Estorel.

For a while, two Elves sat in silence while the third drank noisily, then the servant knocked again, bringing two mugs with a steaming, delicious-smelling liquid. He placed a mug in front of Elladan, then served Erestor – strictly following the protocol to serve the one of higher rank first.

Elladan took a small sip of the hot liquid, then made a delighted noise.

"By the Valar – this tastes divine! What is it?"

"Let me see – hot milk, chocolate, Shire Brandy with cream – a LOT of Shire Brandy - and whipped cream on top. It will warm your belly."

Both indulged on the 'Fried Balrog', then Erestor placed his mug on the table, careful not to move the chess pieces, and returned to give the bottle to Estorel, while Elladan kept his mug held closely in his hands, as if to warm them.

"It does warm your belly, my friend, but I wish I knew how to warm your heart, for it seems rather frozen to me."

Elladan looked up, directing an appraising glance at Erestor.

"I do not know what you mean, Master Erestor," he answered briskly, staring down into the brown, sweet liquid.

"Elladan – I am your friend. I see that you are sad, and I want to help you. Confide in me – if there is anything I can do to help you, I will, even if it is only to lend you my ear."

The young Elf turned the mug in his hands, not answering. Erestor watched him for a while, then, after Estorel had finished his bottle and burped, he wiped the baby's mouth clean, kissed him and put him carefully back in the cradle which was close by. Glorfunkle sat on his usual place on the headboard, watching over the Elfling.

Erestor started to rock the cradle gently, humming an ancient Noldorian lullaby. The whole scene was so peaceful and loving that Elladan felt all the more miserable.

"It is about Orophin, is it not," Erestor finally said, without taking his eyes from the now sleeping Elfling.

Elladan stared at him, almost shocked. It had not been a question, it had been a statement, and it was now clear that avoiding the matter or denying anything would not help – Erestor knew.

The older twin hung his head, hiding his face behind his long hair.

"Ai," he said, and now he felt Erestor's eyes on him.

"Do not be surprised, Elladan – I have been the chief advisor of your father for many millennia. I think I fulfil my duties rather well, and one of the reasons I can do so is that I know everything. If a flea on Thrandúil's dog is coughing, I know it. And you are certainly dearer to my heart than Mirkwood's fleas, Elladan. So tell me - what is troubling you."

Elladan considered Erestor's words for a moment, then he started to talk. He told the advisor everything – how he had realized Orophin liked him, his doubts, his fears, and how they finally had told each other about their feelings, how Orophin had hit him in the stable and left behind, and how very much he wished to strangle his grandmother, which was certainly unworthy of the Heir of Imladris, but that was the way he felt, and he couldn't help it.

"So your beloved has left you, you fear for his life and you do not even have the comfort of mourning his departure, as nobody shall know about your love and pain. Indeed, Elladan, this is not a pleasant situation."

Erestor got up, and stepped to the window, looking outside into the darkness. Snowflakes were dancing in the air, fragile artworks, created to exist but a moment, like all beauty, fading far too fast. Fin was out there, somewhere, hopefully safe.

"Elladan – why have you not followed him?" Erestor asked, continuing to watching the snow fall.

"Follow him? But – how? I cannot…" Elladan stuttered, surprised by Erestor's question.

"How? Well, it seems to me you can handle a horse quite masterfully, Elladan. Do you doubt your riding abilities?"

Erestor finally turned around, crossing his hands behind his back and looking down at the flustered young Elf with compassion.

"Elladan – there is one thing you must understand, and I blame myself for neglecting this lesson when you were still my pupil. You are the Heir of Imladris, this is true. You have duties towards this realm, the Elves who live here, your family. I do not deny this. But," and with this, he crouched down in front of Elladan, taking the younger Elf's large hands in his own, long-fingered ones, rubbing the knuckles tenderly with his thumbs, "you are not only Elrond's son, Elrohir's brother or the Heir of Imladris – before anything else, you are Elladan. You are a living, feeling, breathing being, with a right to love and compassion, to a life of your own, and to happiness. How could you rule this realm wisely if you were unhappy? How could you support your father when you are sad? It is about time you grew up, Elladan – you are a noble Elf, you are a warrior, and you love Orophin. Go after him."

Elladan stared at Erestor – of all the Elves in Imladris, he had never, ever expected to hear such rebellious words from the no-nonsense, black-haired advisor. Glorfindel, maybe, and even the Balrog-slayer would hardly put personal happiness in front of his duty to Imladris.

Erestor's words had lit a small flame in Elladan's heart, a flame that grew, steadily, and would eventually become a fire, strong and burning, and it was this day that Elrond's oldest son finally grew up.

Elladan slung his arms around Erestor's neck, buried his face in the soft, black hair and hugged the advisor tight.

"Thank you, Erestor, so much. I never expected to get such advice from you."

Erestor returned the hug, rubbing Elladan's back soothingly.

"I lost myself in duties for much too long, Elladan. I had become part of the furniture. So I am very grateful that I have found out who I really am, after all this time."

Elladan let go of the older Elf, and looked at him questioningly.

"And who are you, then?"

Erestor laughed – a deep, hearty laughter Elladan had never heard from him before, which transformed the stern, serious advisor into a giggling Elfling.

"Me? I am Mrs. Glorfindel, of course!"

* * *

Maybe it would have been appropriate if Celeborn had felt as if he was having a bad dream, considering he was escorted to his own Talan by two of his wife's guards, a sulking Firinwë in tow, but strangely enough, he felt more awake than usual. For the first time in decades, he had a real, good look around his realm, and the reality hit him like a hammer.

The Golden Wood had changed. Once this had been a place of laughter and silliness, and he and Galadriel had contributed their fair share to this. Now, there was serenity and dignity, no frivolous songs were heard anymore, but hymns and laments, and Celeborn couldn't remember when he had heard the last healthy laughter in these woods. The Galadhrim had become as grey as their uniforms, and Celeborn wondered how this had happened without him noticing.

'You have been too busy drinking, gambling and whoring', his conscience answered the unspoken question, and as much as Celeborn wished he could brush this off, he had to admit that it was the truth: he had been neglecting his duties as a Lord, happy to leave all responsibility and work to Galadriel and live a merry life.

Merry – Celeborn almost laughed, alas without humour. It was not greed for entertainment and distraction that had driven him out of the woods and into other beds and taverns so often. He just couldn't bear to live in a place anymore where everything reminded him on the precious daughter he had lost, where every tree seemed to whisper her name and he couldn't look at a flower without thinking that Celebrían would never smell its sweet scent again.

Could he really blame Galadriel for escaping in the la-la-land her mirror created for her? Had he not tried to escape his pain as well?

Be that as it may, it was inexcusable for him to be led in front of his wife like a common thief, he was the Lord of the Golden Wood, and as such an equal to the Lady – there could be no doubt that another row was in the air, and he mentally prepared for a painful confrontation.

Firinwë, who was walking close behind him, trying to keep up with the long strides of both Celeborn and the guards, felt her heart sink more and more the closer they got to the royal talan. This was not going quite the way she had planned. Not only had Celeborn not fallen for her little scheme, no, Galadriel had also refused to pack her bags and leave the Golden Wood broken hearted. Being frog-marched in front of her royal bitchiness had not been on Firinwë's schedule in overtaking the Golden Wood, and now she felt increasingly uncomfortable. Galadriel could be horrible in her wrath, and being on the receiving end of it was not a delightful prospect.

She shrugged, and wrapped Celeborn's cloak closer around her shoulders. Getting nervous wouldn't lead anywhere, she chided herself, she needed to keep a cool head and if all things failed, she could still blame everything on Celeborn. Yes, this she would do. It was enough if one of them got in trouble, and why should she be the one?

* * *

Galadriel could hardly tear her gaze from the smooth surface of the mirror – for hours, she had stood there, motionless, watching and studying, had seen familiar and unknown faces, pain and laughter. Elrond had again tried to far speak with her, but she had blocked him – he couldn't be trusted anymore, not after what she had seen in the mirror.

Had the world gone mad? Were there no trustworthy friends anymore? Even her family seemed to try to bring her to a fall, it seemed – at least Elladan was safe, now that Orophin was gone. Had she not warned her husband against bringing the stray to the Golden Wood? Had she not told him that he was of bad blood? But Celeborn had always spoken for him. Alas, in the end, she had been right – he had hit Elladan, and bound him, after a cruel battle which she had followed in the mirror. By now, she knew that Elladan had recovered, but the Valar knew what might have happened if she hadn't removed this assassin from Elladan's side! Why did he try to harm her grandson? She had always thought Orophin to be reliable, he had been among her guards for many centuries, and now this.

Galadriel was confused. Sometimes, the mirror would call her in the middle of the night, showing her horrible pictures, her loved ones dead, torturing her with images of her daughter, battered, bruised, fading, and in the end, it all came back to Celeborn, who didn't seem to care, and whose love she seemed to have lost long ago. Over the years, she had learned to tolerate his extra matrimonial excursions, but when the mirror had shown her last night the passionate embrace of Firinwë and her husband, something had snapped deep within her.

Dancers and whores she had accepted, as they were no threat to her status – but Firinwë, who was of noble blood, in fact kin of hers – this she could not tolerate. And Celeborn would pay dearly for this treachery.

* * *

Glorfindel had endured two of the most unpleasant weeks in his life. Not only had he been ordered by Elrond to lead this rotten patrol though the Lord of Imladris knew very well that Fin wanted to stay at home and look after Erestor and the baby, no, he had also sent Rúmil along, 'to learn more about our realm', as Elrond had put it. Rejoice, oh Rivendell!

Fin had no idea if Rúmil learned more about Imladris, and he certainly didn't care, for he hardly exchanged a word with him. He simply couldn't stomach the fact that the Galadhrim had kissed HIS advisor, and Rúmil, on the other hand, would probably need another millennia or so to forgive the Balrog-slayer for breaking his nose. Rúmil was not a vain Elf, but for two weeks, his nose had looked like a cooked potato and hurt like Mordor, and this had interfered with his weekly amorous adventures. The two couldn't stand each other, and another kin slaying was looming.

The guards had a field day watching the two, and bets were placed on who would jump the other's throat first. Most bets were on Glorfindel, who was known for both his quick temper and his devotion to Erestor, the later being a fact many did not really understand.

"I really don't see what is supposed to be so special about Elrond's bat. He always looks like he just chewed on a lemon," one guard remarked, "and he is too skinny for my taste, anyway."

Another Galadhrim elbowed him in the side.

"Shht… be careful what you say, you fool – he could hear it!"

The first guard shrugged.

"Oh, come on – are you trying to scare me off with 'ye mighty Balrog-slayer' again? Look – sure, he used to be a big shot around Gondolin, many millennia ago. And yes, he killed a Balrog. But look at him today – he is changing nappies and warming the bottle. If you ask me, his time is over, and he had best retire, leaving the field to the young and strong."

Before the second guard could answer this insult, an arrow came flying, splitting the wood of the bench the Elf sat on – right between his legs. In fact, the arrow was only half an inch away from his most vital bits and pieces, and he paled visibly.

"Oh, I am so sorry," a humble voice could be heard from somewhere in the dark, "my apologies, young one. You must forgive me – elderly, crippled and weak ones like me ever so often lose control of both their bladders and their arrows, and incidents happen."

The Elf thought he would faint any second, especially when Glorfindel stepped into the light, a wolfish grin on his face.

"I hope you were not hurt," he asked in a most worried tone, batting his lashes, "if you were, I am most afraid that you will have to wait for treatment of your wounds till tomorrow, when we will be back in Rivendell. But a young, strong warrior like you surely can bear a couple of bruises. You should lie down and get some sleep, my friend – you will need your strength once we are back in Rivendell. The stables have not been cleaned in weeks, and you seem to be just the healthy young Elf it takes to tackle this task."

With that, he disappeared into the woods again, whistling a happy tune.

The Elves gathered around the fire giggled and snickered, and the chided archer blushed fervently. Rúmil, who sat a little off to the side, remarked: "His hearing, in any case, still seems to be immaculate."

The Elves laughed, and soon afterwards, they settled for sleep, save Rúmil and one other guard who were supposed to keep watch. Glorfindel was invisible, but Rúmil knew he was always close by, scouting the surroundings.

* * *

It was very early in the morning when the Orcs attacked. Rúmil knew that they had been following the patrol for at least two days, but none of them had thought the Orcs were dumb enough to attack this close to Imladris. Alas, this had been a misconception, and within seconds, the patrol found themselves involved in a heavy fight. The Orcs outnumbered them by far, but the Elves were not willing to flee, with the Orcs so close to Imladris. It was their duty to protect the realm, and this was what they would do.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Elves finally got the upper hand, and the Orcs started to retreat, save one, their leader, who had cornered Glorfindel. Fin cried out when the blade of his enemy sliced his shoulder open, and stumbled, falling to the ground. The Orc roared in victory and raised his sword ready to deliver the final blow when he was attacked by Rúmil. The Galadhrim dragged him to the ground, and they wrestled; the Orc was clawing at Rúmil's chest, drawing blood, and now he tried for his throat. Rúmil gasped, he was weaker than the beast, but faster and more nimble, and he wriggled away from the deadly fangs. Finally, he managed to bury his dagger up to the hilt in the beast's side.

The Orc roared, bucking, and Rúmil stabbed him again, and again, till he finally lay dead.

Rúmil panted heavily, the wounds on his chest hurting like Mordor, but overall, he had been lucky. He rolled the corpse off of him, then he sat for a while, recovering and catching his breath; in the meantime, the other Elves had hurried to Glorfindel's side.

The Elven lord lay still in the snow which coloured slowly dark red, and for a moment, Rúmil feared that he had come too late. But then he heard swear words that would have made a Gondorian soldier blush, and he knew that things were maybe not well, but definitely not hopeless.

"Carry him to the fire," the captain ordered, and while three Elves helped Fin back to the camp, another hurried to Rúmil's side, asking if he needed help.

"No, thank you. 't is nothing, just a scratch."

This was an understatement if ever there was one, but Rúmil was made of rough and tough material - it took more than an Orc to make him ask for help, and he felt that Glorfindel was more in need of medical assistance than he was.

They laid Fin in the tent, on bedrolls and blankets, covering him with a fur rug, and Rúmil towered above him.

"These wounds need to be cleaned and treated, my lord," he said.

"Nonsense", Fin growled, but his face contracted with pain when he spoke. The wound was deep and bleeding, and he didn't know if the blade had been poisoned.

"I shall see to your wounds now, Lord Glorfindel."

This commanding tone made Fin's hair rise, and he barked: "You? I would rather have the cook look after me, my chances of survival would be greater. Leave me be, you Lothlórien nuisance!"

Rúmil rolled his eyes, then he turned to the Elves who tried to hide their grins - despite their fear for Fin, they also enjoyed the banter very much, and couldn't wait to see who would yield in the end.

"Please have the courtesy to leave me alone with my patient. It might be necessary to use force, and I do not need on-lookers. Should any of you have a pair of shackles with you, though, I would be grateful to borrow them for the time being."

The guards snickered, then left the tent, while Fin was roaring and trying to get up. Alas, he didn't get too far, as the pain cut off his breath.

Rúmil shook his head, then, without further ado, he sat down in front of Fin, right on his legs, trapping him effectively to the floor.

"Ouch! What do you think you are doing here, you spawn of Mordor?" Fin howled, but Rúmil simply ignored him, fishing in the bag on his belt for some herbs. He found what he had been looking for, took some leaves in his mouth and started to chew them into mush, which was easier to apply. While he chewed, he peeled the protesting Fin out of his tunic.

"Do not pretend you know even the slightest thing about healing," Fin said, eyeing Rúmil with more than just suspicion. "I know very well that you are only trying to get me back for the broken nose, you quack."

Rúmil spat the chewed herbs on his hand, and carefully covered Fin's wound with them. The Elf lord immediately felt the pain fading, and a cooling, tingling sensation spread over the affected area.

The Galadhrim bandaged the wound carefully with strips of Fin's tunic, then, finished with his work, he crossed his arms.

"I am not Lord Elrond, but what I know is enough to get an old mare like you battle ready again, and now stay put and lie down, or I shall bind and gag you."

"You and what army..." Fin growled, alas with less conviction. After all, he owed Rúmil his life.

"And thank you, by the way." he muttered, but Rúmil had heard him well.

"Lord Glorfindel - do you not think it is about time you got over your grudge?"

Fin frowned, and chewed on his lip.

"You kissed my advisor." he finally said, and pouted.

"At that time, he was not yet your advisor. I was free to try my luck, and now be honest, my lord: is this so hard to understand?"

Fin shrugged.

"My lord - it was only a kiss."

Fin fiddled with his bandage, and Rúmil, still sitting on his legs to ensure he couldn't escape, grinned. Fin looked up, then he folded his arms defiantly over his chest, wincing in the process when his shoulder protested.

"He said you were an expert."

Rúmil laughed, loud and roaring.

"He did? Well, I am amazed - his participation was far from enthusiastic, if I remember the incident correctly. But then again - my memory is darkened by the ruthless act of needless violence which followed."

Now it was Fin's turn to roll his eyes.

"Fine - I apologise. Maybe I was overreacting. But seeing you kissing him was - well, I did not approve of it."

"You did not approve of me kissing him, or you did not approve that you were not?"

"What? Kissing him?"

Rúmil grinned, shaking his head.

"Of course him - I doubt you regretted not kissing me, my lord, though I dare say you missed out on a memorable experience."

"Now this I doubt!" Fin snorted, trying to wriggle away.

"Now really, do you..." Rúmil purred, a wicked smile on his lips. He had his mind set on finally getting the upper hand over the most splendid Glorfindel of Gondolin, so he traced the outline of the Elf lord's ear with his finger.

"Not only a memorable experience, but also a most pleasant one, my lord."

With that, he wove his fingers into Fin's hair, and closed in to kiss him.

Fin had lived long enough to tell a serious kiss from a teasing one. Rúmil did not desire him, nor did he desire the Galadhrim - it was a game, nothing else. However, he had to admit that Rúmil knew his business, so he yielded to the demanding guardian. After a good while, they parted, and Rúmil had a very smug grin on his face.

"Well - what was I like?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not bad - good technique. But you do not stand a chance in comparison with Erestor."

Rúmil nodded.

"This might be true, and though I really liked that little twist you did with your tongue, I must say that I've had better kisses in the past. Overall, I would give you seven of ten possible points. Could you agree on that?"

Fin considered this for a moment, then he nodded.

"Seven out of ten is fine, I guess. I shall be honest and give you eight, so you can feel you have won this contest and will hopefully get your lazy butt of my legs at last, for they have fallen asleep."

Rúmil laughed again, then he got up, but before he left, he made sure Fin was tucked in neatly under the fur rug.

"Sleep well, my lord." he said.

"You too, you master kisser."

All in all, Fin mused, the day hadn't been too bad, despite the Orcs.

His eyes glazed over in reverie, and he dreamt of Erestor.

* * *

"No, no, no!" Haldir barked, throwing his hands in the air.

"Have you forgotten everything I taught you? This is not a toothpick, it is an arrow. And you are not supposed to shoot at sparrows, but at the target! This was the lousiest shot I have ever seen! Try again, and try harder this time!"

The young Rivendell archer winced, and hurried to comply with Haldir's orders. My, but the Galadhrim was his most charming self today! Today? For weeks already! They all tried to steer clear of him, hoping his foul mood would eventually brighten up, but so far, their hopes had been disappointed. Even Lord Elrond tried to avoid any confrontation with Haldir, and that was pretty telling.

While the archer continued his exercises, Haldir inwardly kicked himself. Why had he lashed out like this? The young one was not at fault, was not responsible for Haldir’s foul mood.

He sighed. For weeks, his thoughts had run in circles. He knew Rabbit well enough to trust his words, and if his mate's revelation had been the truth, Orophin was really of his kin, and he - was only a half-elf. His stomach cramped again, even at the thought of it. Again and again Haldir had replayed all he knew about his youth, but couldn't find even the slightest indication about his family background. He had contemplated his fate, had tried to clear his thoughts while he took long walks in the woods, but there was nothing, nothing unelven in him. He felt no connection with mortals, never had; at best, he had come to respect some of them, like Estel, for example, but in general, he thought them to be rather rude and uncivilized. And now he was supposed to be one of them? At least in part? This couldn't be.

Haldir wished he could talk about this to somebody, but Orophin's departure had cut all discussion off, Rabbit couldn't or wouldn't tell him more than he already had, Celeborn was far away in the Golden Wood, and Rúmil - well, something kept Haldir from telling Rúmil of this. He didn't know how his older brother would react, and Haldir felt he couldn't deal right now with anybody's distress, by the Valar, he couldn't even deal with his own.

Was Orophin really his brother? Or a cousin? And who was his father then? And his mother? And how come an Elf had bedded a mortal? Questions over questions, and no answer in sight. Haldir was tense like a strung bow, and he also felt increasing anger with the Lady Galadriel for sending Orophin off like this. He knew the situation in Tíngel Forest, and he had no idea why, of all the Galadhrim in Lórien, Galadriel had sent Orophin, who was assigned guardian for Estorel, to join the forces, a dangerous task, this Haldir knew. It made no sense.

Something was wrong, and Haldir decided it was about time to find out what. Once Rúmil returned from the patrol with Glorfindel, he would accompany him back to the Golden Wood and talk to Celeborn. And while he was there, he would also tell Galadriel where she could stick her orders.

"That was a good shot," he complimented the archer, who gave him a relieved smile.

It had been a lousy shot, missing its aim by several feet, but at least the youngster hadn't killed some innocent squirrel.

* * *

Erestor knew immediately that something was wrong when he saw the patrol return. Fin was more hanging in his saddle than sitting in it, he was swaying and having a hard time staying on the horse, and there was a makeshift bandage around his shoulder.

He held Estorel close to his chest and ran down the flight of stairs as fast as the baby and his robes allowed; those were the moments he feared most, to get Fin back injured, and maybe, one day, not at all. When he arrived in the court yard, servants had already helped the badly battered guardians out of their saddles, the wounded were brought to the Healing House, and Elrond and Elladan were helping Fin to walk there, for the warrior had insisted on walking, refusing to be carried, barking insults and demanding not to be fussed over.

Erestor handed the baby over to Mauburz, who gave the Elfling a terrified look. "You make me wet, I bite off tip of ears!" she growled, and Estorel giggled, grabbing for one of her braids and tugging. "You are cheeky Elfling, bad manners, but you got nice red hair."

"My son does not have red hair! For the last time! Colour-blind Orc!" Fin howled his protest from the examination table, and Erestor felt a wave of relief wash over him – if the warrior could swear, he was alive. The advisor rushed to Fin's side, taking his hand, and stroking his face.

"You just can't keep out of trouble, can you," he said, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat at the sight of his injured mate.

"If I could, would I bind myself to you?" Fin growled, then hissed as Elrond cut away the makeshift bandage.

"You have been lucky, Glorfindel. This could have become inflamed, good to see somebody had the wits to treat the wound."

Fin gave Elrond a frown.

"Rúmil did it." he explained briskly, then he turned his attention back to Erestor.

Elrond cocked an eyebrow.

"Rúmil? He got within reach of you and you did not kill him? My, my, dear old friend, are we getting soft with old age?" the Lord of Imladris remarked, and the guards present snickered.

"Quiet! And you back there, you can all go count Orcs in Mirkwood for the next millennia or two!" Fin barked, and the archers broke out in laughter. After the battle and the tiring last days, this laughter did more towards healing than any of Elrond's salves or tinctures, and Fin was well aware of this, so he played along.

Elrond turned to Rúmil, who sat on the next table and whose chest-wound was being treated by Elladan.

"You have done this well, Rúmil. I did not know you had knowledge of herb-lore and healing."

Rúmil shrugged.

"We are away on patrol for many months at times, and you learn to care for your wounds yourself, as there is not always a healer close by. I don't know much, just the essentials."

"But still," Elrond complimented, "you have done very well. Thank you."

Rúmil bowed his head, then he returned his attention to Elladan, who was applying a salve to his wound.

Nobody had noticed how Elladan had tensed when Elrond complimented Rúmil on his healing skills – nobody but Erestor, who saw how the young Elf clenched his jaw. While Fin argued with Elrond, Erestor, who still held Fin's hand, studied Elladan.

'You have grown up, penneth', he thought, 'but you don't know it yet'. Elladan was over 3000 years old, but there had always been something immature, insecure and child-like about him. Elrohir, on the other hand, had acted responsibly and like a young lord even from an early age, so it was no surprise that those who didn't know the twins thought Elrohir to be the older.

And another thing Erestor noticed: Elladan was very fair of face – over the last years, he had matured, and his almost mortal build and sharp features were now in harmony, his face was not of a timeless beauty like Elrohir's, but there was an expression in his eyes which made you look twice.

Erestor wondered about this change, and he also wondered why he had never noticed before. 'What triggered this change?' Erestor mused, 'Was it Orophin? Did the Galadhrim see something in Elladan that was there all along, while we were too preoccupied with other things to notice?'

Elladan was not inexperienced, Erestor had seen quite a few lovers of his over the years, but never had he seen such passion and pain in Elladan's face. Erestor had watched him, seen the glances the two had exchanged, the shy, almost accidental touching of hands, and then there had been the peculiar circumstances of Orophin's departure.

Elladan, this was clear to see, cared deeply for the Galadhrim, and as unexpected as this attraction was, it was obviously mutual. Looking at Elladan's red-rimmed eyes – the young one had obviously cried – the coal-haired advisor felt a deep resentment towards Galadriel and her actions rising in his chest.

Like everybody else, Erestor had been surprised when she had sent Orophin to Tíngel Forest, of all places, and he mused about her reasons. Erestor had never been too fond of Galadriel, her often-expressed stance that the Lórien Elves were of higher culture than any other – expressed in actions rather than words – had not made her dearer to his heart, and he never felt quite comfortable in the Golden Wood.

Celeborn, despite being a rogue, having temper tantrums and being a notorious flirt, was far easier to deal with.

"Is that it now? Are you finished fussing over me like an old maiden, Elrond?" Fin complained, interrupting Erestor's musings.

"I am."

Elrond turned to Elladan.

"Elladan, we will keep Rúmil here for the night. Please stay with him, I want to make sure there will be no complications."

Elladan nodded, and Rúmil pulled a face; luckily, Elrond didn't notice, for he was now addressing Erestor, ignoring the protesting warrior in front of him.

"Take him home, put him to bed and make sure he does not leave it for at least three days. The wound is deep, and it could still become infected, despite my efforts. Under no circumstances do I wish to see his face within the next two days anywhere outside of his room. Have I made myself clear?"

"Aye, my lord. Perfectly. I shall see to it personally," Erestor replied.

"Would you two stop talking about me as if I was not present?" Fin complained, looking up at his mate and his lord with a seriously hurt expression on his face.

"Is nobody here asking what I want?" he then barked, and Erestor and Elrond replied in unison: "No!"

The guards giggled again, and Glorfindel flopped back on the bed.

What a rotten day.

* * *

It had been a long, bad day, and when Elrond fell into bed after a hot bath, his eyes fogged in reverie almost immediately. It was no peaceful sleep, though - he dreamt of Lothlórien, and of his wife, who tried to tell him something, something important, but he didn't understand, and then she was running away from him; he followed her, but to no avail. She disappeared into a small house and locked the door behind her, and he was banging at the front door, begging her to open it...

"My lord? Lord Elrond? Please - can you answer the door? 't is I, Melpomaen." Further knocks on the door.

Slowly, Elrond came to awareness. He rubbed his eyes, sat up, slowly, for every muscle ached.

There was another knock, louder this time.

"Stop tearing down the house, I am coming," Elrond growled, and quickly slipped into a robe. He shuffled to the door, opened it abruptly and was just about to start his lecture on the many reasons why one should not wake the Lord of Rivendell three hours before sunrise when his eyes wandered from his young advisor to the Elf who stood beside him. He was dirty, wet and looked very, very tired.

"Celeborn!" Elrond called out, and opened the door wide.

"For the Valar's sake! What has happened? Come in!"

The Lord of the Golden Wood stepped into Elrond's chambers, slowly, as if he was in pain, and without saying a word. He looked so different from his usual merry self that Elrond was most worried.

"Melpomaen - have a bath arranged for Lord Celeborn, and make sure we get something to eat and hot beverages. Also bring fresh clothes. Celeborn - sit down here in front of the fire."

Celeborn didn't say a word, but obeyed, and Melpomaen lifted his robes and ran as fast as his skinny legs allowed - not only to do as he was told, but to spread the news of Celeborn's arrival all over Rivendell.

Elrond closed the door behind the young Elf and walked over to the fire, putting on some wood, then turned to Celeborn.

Pitiful - this was the only word he could think of.

"Celeborn - what has happened? Why are you here? Is anything wrong?"

The Lord of the Golden Woods shrugged out of his cloak, and dropped it carelessly to the floor. His head fell forward, and he buried his face in his hands. Elrond, alarmed and shocked, never having seen his father in law in such a state, poured some wine in a glass, offering it to Celeborn, who shook his head and pushed it away. Elrond knelt down beside him, and rested a hand on his arm.

"For Elbereth's sake, Celeborn - tell me what happened!"

Celeborn looked up.

"Galadriel..." he started, then he hid his face again.

"Galadriel? Has something happened to her?"

Celeborn shook his head.

"Can I stay in Rivendell for the time being, Elrond? I have no other place to go."

Elrond stared at Celeborn, completely confused.

"Why ... but of course, you can stay here as long as you want, but what do you mean by saying you have no other place to go? Can you not return to Lothlórien?"

The Elf in the chair laughed - it was a humourless laughter, and it scared Elrond thoroughly.

"No, my dear, dear Elrond. I cannot return to Lothlórien."

"And why not?" Elrond asked.

"Because," Celeborn replied, covering Elrond's hand with his, "because Galadriel has banned me from the Golden Wood on penalty of death should I ever set foot on my... her realm again."

The glass Elrond had been holding fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

'Just like my life', Celeborn thought, then he buried his face in his hands again and wept.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I shall not desert you, my brothers in arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Elladan sat by Rúmil's side and read a book on herb-lore. Time after time, he would check on his charge; alas everything seemed to be fine, and Elladan didn't expect any complications - Rúmil's wound was healing just nicely. After a while, his eyes got tired, and he put the book aside. He was looking at Rúmil, and for the first time, he saw him as Orophin's brother, which was rather an odd feeling.

‘Funny', he thought, 'how different brothers can be'. Rúmil and Orophin had - hair colour aside - absolutely nothing in common. With a smile, he remembered a drawing Bramble had done of her family some weeks ago. She had portrayed Rabbit, despite his name, as a black wolf, Orophin as a big cat, Rúmil as a ferret, Elrohir as a swan and, a fact which had contributed to much merriment, Haldir and Elladan as bulls. When asked why, of all animals, her ada and Elrond's eldest were supposed to be bulls; she had only shrugged and answered: "Because they look the same."

The only one who had been worse off was Elrond, who ended up as a turtle with bushy eyebrows, wearing a circlet. Elladan had to grin when he remembered the drawing; childlike as it had been, Bramble certainly had a point there.

"Would you share the joke with me?" the 'ferret' muttered, seeing the young Elf lord grinning.

Elladan quickly hid his smile behind his hand, blushing.

"My apologies, Rúmil – I was not aware you had woken up. I was merely remembering an amusing incident. Do you need anything?"

Rúmil tried to sit up, but his head was spinning, and he lay back down again.

"No, I am fine. What incident are you referring to? Pray tell - I could do with some laughter."

"Bramble's drawing – remember? Where she portrayed us as animals?"

"Oh, that one!"

Despite his headache, Rúmil had to chuckle. Haldir had been sulking for weeks, especially as Glorfindel felt compelled to 'moo' every time he crossed Haldir's path. And they all had stayed well out of Lord Elrond's way for quite a while, too.

"I was just thinking how spot on her drawing was, in an odd way,” Elladan remarked.

"Why – do you think that I look like a ferret?" Rúmil quipped in feigned insult, and Elladan placed his hands on both sides of his head, index fingers stretched out. "Indeed, and would I not make a most convincing bull!"

Rúmil mooed, and they both roared with laughter.

After this, they sat for a while in companionable silence; finally, Rúmil thought this was as good a moment to ask as any other - at least they were alone now - so he fixed his gaze on Elladan.

"Do you love Orophin?"

Elladan, completely taken aback by this question, stared at Rúmil as if he had grown a second head. Ever the diplomat, the Galadhrim!

"What? Why… oh I… actually…"

Rúmil made a calming gesture with his hand.

"I hope you do not mind my straightforward approach, but I am not one to beat around the bush. I ask because I am concerned about my brother, and so I demand an honest answer. Do you love Orophin?"

Elladan looked down at his hands, and he started to fiddle around with the ring on the middle finger of his left hand.

"Yes," he finally said, almost whispering, "I love him very much."

"This a good start," Rúmil said. "I will talk to him tomorrow."

Elladan's face dropped, and he shook his head.

"You cannot talk to Orophin anymore, Rúmil."

Alarmed, the Galadhrim propped up on his elbows, giving Elladan a sharp look.

"What do you mean by that?"

Elladan sighed. Of course – Rúmil couldn't know, he had been away. "Grandmother has ordered him to serve in Tíngel Forest."

"What? Tíngel Forest?" Rúmil sat up, ignoring the fact that his head was spinning and his stomach turning. "She has sent him to Tíngel Forest and you let him go?"

"I did not want him to go, but…"

"I cannot believe what I hear! You claim to love him and you let him go to certain death? What kind of love is that? And do you happen to know why he was sent there at all?"

Elladan shook his head, ducking under Rúmil's harsh words as if avoiding blows from an axe.

"I do not know, Rúmil. I can only suspect that grandmother did not approve, but it is not like her to interfere in such a way. I am greatly worried – I feel something evil, but I cannot put my finger on it. I tried to far speak with her, but she did not answer."

Rúmil picked up a glass from the bedside table and threw it across the room, where it collided with some medicine bottles; everything fell to the ground with a shattering noise, but he paid no attention to it.

"I cannot believe this!" Rúmil repeated, infuriated. "What do you intend to do now? And why are you still here in any case? Why did you not follow him?"

Elladan kept fiddling with his ring. "I cannot tell. I need to think about it."

"You need to think about it? Well then, young master Elladan, you better think quick, for I do not know of many who returned from Tíngel Forest alive, and I would hate to see my brother return only to burn on his funeral pyre!"

With that, Rúmil tried to get up, but he swayed. Elladan offered him his arm as a support, but Rúmil pushed him away.

"Do not touch me. It is as I told Orophin: this will not work out. He would not have hesitated a moment to ride after you and give his life for you, this I know, for this is the way Orophin loves: unconditionally. He deserves better than an Elven lord's spoilt son who sits here, fiddling with his ring, hanging on his grandmother's apron strings and hiding behind his ada. You are not worthy of his love."

With that, the Galadhrim, collecting all remaining strength, slipped into his tunic, and made for the door.

"Rúmil! You cannot leave like this – you are injured!" Elladan called after him, but Rúmil only waved him off.

"Leave me be, young lord – go and play with your sister's dolls, or polish your ada's gems. You can play 'warrior' some other time."

With that, he was out of the door, leaving a devastated Elladan behind.

The young Elf still stood on the same spot when Melpomaen slipped through the door quite a while later, tugging on Elladan's sleeve when he got no response to his greeting. He caught his attention and told him that his ada wished to see him – now.

Elladan looked at Melpomaen as if he had just woken up from deep slumber, then he nodded and followed the young advisor to his father's study.

* * *

It was autumn. Leaves in all shades of red and brown fell from the trees, covering the ground like a carpet, rustling softly underfoot.

There had been no autumn in Lothlórien for thousands of years, and the Galadhrim felt as if their home was falling apart with every leaf softly landing on the ground. Gone was the sun, gone was the warmth, no comforting glow lay over the Golden Wood anymore, and they all felt that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Galadriel stood on the balcony of her study and watched how, one by one, the leaves fell, and with every leaf, her heart was breaking a little bit more.

Never in her long life had she felt so lonely. It was not the loneliness caused by absence of company; it was the loneliness of the heart, the knowledge of standing alone and having not a single soul to turn to.

Autumn had begun in Lothlórien on the very day Celeborn had left the Golden Wood, and she could still see him, riding straight and proud through the rows of Galadhrim who had come to honour and bid farewell to their lord, despite Galadriel's express orders that nobody should witness Celeborn's departure.

Had she done the right thing? Oh, she didn't know, and she certainly had not taken her decision lightly. But after millennia of being lied to and cheated on, this had been the final straw; something inside her had snapped and she knew she couldn't take anymore of Celeborn's escapades.

She remembered how he had stood in front of her; Firinwë by his side, accusing him of taking advantage of her drunken state, Celeborn pleading that he had not touched the lady - not this time at least. In the end, Galadriel had banned him from the Golden Wood not for the questionable adultery with Firinwë, but for the many, many times he had broken her heart before.

This she could remember, and she also remembered the cheerful times, how they had loved each other, and laughed, and cried, the joy over the birth of their precious daughter, the grief over her loss, and then – nothing. One day she found herself alone, cut off from everybody, no love and light for her anymore, only the duty of keeping the Golden Wood safe. Nights and nights of negotiating treaties, spent bowed over the mirror to spot possible dangers for her home and her people, while Celeborn was out, playing, drinking, whispering sweet nothings in the ear of every wench or Elf who was willing to listen.

The mirror still beckoned her, calling her, but Galadriel didn't listen. There was nothing to see and feel anymore, and she envied the mortals their gift. Soon, the time would come for her to go out in the woods, to lie down under a Mallorn tree and fall asleep. She was so tired, both in mind and body. How nice it would be to close her eyes for once, to sleep, to forget everything and never feel pain and loss again.

Without noticing it, Galadriel dropped the small piece of white silk her restless fingers had been playing with, and it sank to the ground, blown away by the wind, like to the falling leaves of the Mallorn trees.

* * *

"Mauburz doesn't care. Mauburz doesn't want her here. 'No stooped Elf ladies allowed here', see sign above counter?"

Erestor sighed.

"Mauburz – dearest, sweetest – there is no such sign, and it is not an order of Lord Elrond, but his wish – do you not think you could do him this small favour?"

"Sign not up yet," the Orc stubbornly insisted, "but will be tomorrow!"

Erestor took the large paw of the Orc in his hands.

"Think about it, Mauburz – if she stays here in the guestroom, you can keep an eye on her. If she stays in the Last Homely House, she would have a room close to Lord Elrond, and who knows what would happen."

Mauburz grumbled, but Erestor felt her resistance melting, so he hurried to add, "And just think how annoyed she would be, ordered to stay here."

The Orc thought about it. "Hm. Lord Elrond wants it?"

"Yes."

"Stoopid Elf lady doesn't want it?"

"No."

"Good. Send stoopid Elf lady here. Can help stock up shelves and mopping floor. And you tell her, if not behaving, Mauburz will eat her for luncheon, with gravy."

Erestor laughed.

"Mauburz – you are a vegetarian!"

The Orc shrugged, and grinned.

"You know. Me knows. But stoopid Elf lady doesn't!"

* * *

It would have been an understatement to say that Elladan was surprised to see his grandfather sitting in his father's study, hair still wet from the bath and dressed in one of Glorfindel's robes. He stared at the Elf lord, his mouth open.

"Grandfather! What - what are you doing here?"

"I am also pleased to see you, Elladan,” Celeborn sarcastically replied, "and I am here because your grandmother has banned me from my own home."

"Banned? But - how? And why?"

This was all a little much for Elladan to take in, so he just flopped down into one of his mother's chairs and starred at his father and grandfather, expecting some kind of explanation.

"Why? Ah, let me see..." Celeborn said, and started to count on his fingers. "There was 'repeated adultery', 'negligence towards the realm', being an 'irresponsible bastard', 'lousy husband', 'even lousier father' - yes, I think that about covers it. I am sure there was more, but when she came to 'emotional cruelty', I was already escorted half way out of Lothlórien by her personal guard."

Elladan shook his head; he could hardly believe what he was hearing. "But - why? Why now? With all due respect, grandfather, your - extra-matrimonial activities were no secret."

Celeborn shrugged.

"Your grandmother has changed a lot since we lost our only child and you lost your mother, penneth. And I am most ashamed to admit that I was not a big help or support to her. I guess I deserve being left - alas, being banned from my own realm, this takes it a little too far."

Elrond nodded. "Indeed. Public flogging would have been more appropriate."

"Elrond!" Celeborn gasped, and Elladan's eyes widened to the size of saucers, but the Lord of Imladris only shrugged.

"As we are about to be honest with each other, Celeborn - you are a nightmare of a husband. You were a wonderful father, and Celebrían loved you dearly; the way you reigned your realm was always in favour of your people, at least it was when you still cared to reign, but as a husband - as a husband, my dear Celeborn, you were a hopeless failure. I would have left you long ago if I was your wife."

Celeborn crossed his arms defensively and glared at Elrond.

"Some son in law you are, I must say."

"I am only being honest with you, Celeborn."

"Waitwaitwait - this is getting a little surreal now," Elladan interrupted, steadying his head between his hands. "Grandfather - are you telling me here that you let grandmother ban you from your own realm without opposing her? What did the guards do? Did nobody speak in your favour? After all, she is not within the laws, you rule Lothlórien together."

Celeborn got up, and stepped closer to the fire, resting his hands on the mantelpiece.

"She was so upset, and so distraught - see, one word from me, and my guards would have come to my help. But what would I have won - I had certainly lost her forever, and how could I justify a battle between my guards and hers - among kin? We had one kin slaying already, penneth, and that was one too many. I decided to comply, to find some peace and decide my further action, and I hope that, in the meantime, she has calmed down."

Elladan got up.

"I will talk to her, grandfather. After all I’ve heard now, and seen during these last weeks, I have come to the conclusion that something is not fair in Lothlórien, and I will find out what it is. I was already surprised that she sent Orophin to serve in Tíngel Forest, and..."

"She sent Orophin to Tíngel Forest?" Celeborn called out, "When? Why? How come I do not know about this?"

Elladan looked at the ground, burying his hands in the pockets of his breeches. "I think she did not approve."

"Approve of what?" Now it was Elrond's turn to be confused - it seemed that, somewhere along the way, he had lost track of this conversation.

"Of Orophin."

Celeborn shook his head, ruffling his hair.

"What is there not to approve of? He is an excellent, loyal warrior and has served us well for many millennia. He was your guardian when you and your brother were Elflings."

Elladan sighed. There was no way around the truth, so he decided to come clean with everything.

"She did not approve of our love."

Elrond's eyebrows became one with his hairline.

"Your love? What love? Elladan?" he gasped.

"Our love, ada. I love Orophin. And he loves me, too."

The Lord of Imladris dropped in a chair as his legs suddenly refused service.

"You - and Orophin? But - Elladan ... you are my heir... do not misunderstand me, my son, Orophin is a fine Elf, and he is certainly fair of face, but he is almost as old as I am - and he is a 'he'!"

Elladan felt his blood rise, and his curled to fists, the pressure so great that his fingernails left bloodied half-moons on the palms of his hands.

"Yes, ada, he is a male. So was Gil-galad, or am I wrong here?"

Elrond paled. "Elladan - you forget your place!"

"No, ada, I do not. For the first time in my life, I know my place. And I chose it to be my place, not you, grandmother or anybody else! And that is why I will ride to Lothlórien, will get Orophin out of that Orc infested forest and will talk to grandmother!"

Elrond got up, straightened and was all Lord of Imladris, from circlet to toe, and it seemed to Elladan as if he was twice as high as he usually was. This was not his father; this was his judge, his lord.

"I will not allow it!" he boomed. "I will not lose another child of mine! This is a folly you will overcome. You will stay here and in time, you will have a family of your own, and you will rule this realm - I will hear no more of this nonsense!"

Elrond had fought many battles, faced great dangers and stared into the face of death many times in his long life, but nothing had ever scared him as much as the transformation his usually so mild-mannered son underwent the next moment.

Elladan roared, and kicked the table across the room so that it crashed against the wall next to the fireplace, sending splinters in all directions. Celeborn jumped up, and made a step towards his grandson, but when he saw the wild fury raging in the young Elf's eyes, he stayed where he was.

"You can neither allow me anything nor forbid it! I am my own lord and master! And I will ride out to Tíngel Forest first thing in the morning, and the Valar forbid anybody here should try to hold me back! I am not an Elfling anymore, forced to obey your orders! I am not Elrohir's dim-witted twin, I am not the heir of Imladris, I am not the untalented healer, I am not Elrond's son, and I am not a stud for the House of Elrond waiting for a noble mare - I AM ELLADAN!"

Elladan was beautiful in his anger, eyes blazing and long hair flying, and for the first time, Elrond saw who he really was, saw the fire that burned in his oldest son. It was the same fire that had driven Elrond himself out on the battlefield, had made him take risks and do things nobody else had dared - Elladan had become a strong, proud warrior, and he had to let him go.

Elladan's anger faded immediately when he saw how his father's shoulders dropped and how his outburst had affected his sire. This was not the Lord of Imladris anymore, this was only a father who faced the prospect of losing another child after having lost his beloved wife, and Elladan bitterly regretted his harsh words. He had not intended to hurt his father, ever.

Elrond looked at him for a long time, and none of the Elves moved. Celeborn watched his grandson and his son-in-law, and his heart ached for both of them. Both were right, and both were wrong, but this was one of nature's rules: sooner or later, the young ones would leave the nest, and there was nothing any parent could do to prevent this.

"My son..." Elrond whispered, then father and son took a step towards each other and finally were in each others arms, hugging. Never had Elrond felt a deeper love for his son, or Elladan a closer connection to his father. When they finally parted, Elladan's face was wet with tears, and they were not only his. Elrond placed his hand on his son’s cheek, gently stroking it.

"When did you grow up, penneth," he whispered, more to himself than to Elladan, "and how came I to have missed it."

Elladan rested his forehead against his father’s, and smiled, despite everything.

"You have not missed it, ada-nîn," he said, "it only just happened a minute ago."

Father and son stood for a long while, and Celeborn made sure the fire in the fireplace kept on burning.

* * *

Haldir turned his face to the wall and pretended to be fast asleep when Rabbit entered the chamber. Under normal circumstances the Galadhrim would have been delighted that his mate preferred his company to a night of wild hunting in the rain, but not today. Since that fateful night when Rabbit had told Haldir about his origin, they had hardly spoken five words with each other; the revelation of Haldir's ancestry dividing them more effectively than any wall could have.

Rabbit did not like this - never before had Haldir been in such a peculiar mood, and he was not willing to bear this any longer.

"Haldir - I need to talk to you,” he said, but Haldir continued to feign sleep.

This was a game you could play with Galadhrim or Hobbits, but not with a Mordorian Plains Elf. Before Haldir could take another breath, he found Rabbit atop of him, pinning his hands to the mattress, and there was no way to avoid facing Rabbit and looking him in the eyes.

"Leave me be, Rabbit - I am not one of the fishes you catch for luncheon!" Haldir growled, trying to free himself of Rabbit's iron grip, but it was a waste of effort, for whatever Rabbit held in his grip, he would either let go by free will or not at all.

"No, you are not a fish, you are my mate, and I wish to talk to you. Now." Rabbit growled, his strange, yellow eyes sparkling in the darkness like two small flames.

"But I do not wish to speak to you!" Haldir spat, struggling again.

"Then be still and just listen. You are angry. Because you are also mortal? Why is that a problem? You have eyes. Mortals have eyes. They love their children. You love your daughter. So where is the difference?"

Haldir didn't answer but continued to struggle.

"There is no difference, Haldir. The only difference is that you, like most other Elves, considered yourself special. You get upset when they look down at me, for they cannot see me with your eyes, but you, you cannot see mortals the way they are, either. You have a family, you are lucky. I lost my family, I was not. Do not complain about the things you do not have, Haldir - be grateful for those you have."

Rabbit released Haldir, and he could have slipped out from under his mate now, but he didn't. He stared at the ceiling, and tears ran slowly down his temples into his hair, soaking his braids.

"I do not know anymore who I am, Rabbit - everything I thought to be real has turned out to be a lie, and I cannot stop looking for signs of my mortality. I stand in front of my mirror and I see the same Elf I saw before, but I know it is not me - I am somebody else, but who? How did I come into this world? Was my father a firstborn who bedded a mortal woman? Or did my mother fall for a human? I have a thousand questions, Rabbit, and no answers, and this is driving me insane, can you not understand this?"

Rabbit pulled the distraught Elf into his arms, curling protectively around him like a wolf around his cubs, and gently stroked Haldir's hair.

"Today, I told Rúmil - he only said that now finally my extraordinary appetite was explained, and that was all. He was not upset, he was surprised, yes, but he did not seem to care. So why do I?"

"Because he sees you as who you are to him, Haldir - his brother whom he loves. Just like I see you as who you are to me: my mate, the other half of my soul, the father of my daughter, the bearer of my heart. This will never change. Do not value those around you by their ancestry, by their people or on the grounds of whether their ears are pointed or not. There are no beings of higher or lesser value - the only thing which really is of importance is whether their hearts are pure or not. And accept that we judge you only for the way you are, not for where you come from or who your parents were."

Haldir had silently cried all through Rabbit's speech, which must have been the longest his mate had ever made. Rabbit kept on stroking his mate. Finally, the Elf looked up to his lover, kissing him softly.

"I wish we all had your wisdom, Rabbit."

Rabbit cocked his head, then he hugged Haldir closer to his chest.

"Sleep. I will watch over you."

The Elf snuggled closer; soon, his eyes glazed over in reverie, and for the first time in weeks, he slept peacefully - not even nightmares dared to appear where Rabbit held vigil.

* * *

Even for an Elf it was impossible to walk without a sound on this rain-soaked ground. Orophin deeply disliked the wet, sucking noise every time his boots sank ankle deep in the mud and he had to pull his feet out again. At least, he thought, he heard a sound coming from an Elf, not from an Orc. One learned the distinction pretty quick out here; if not, one hardly got a second chance. One also learned to distinguish fellow Galadhrim by their coughing. A dry, short bark – Fendir. Rattling coughing – Turmíl.

Orophin huddled under a blanket, pressed close to a tree, covered by a makeshift tent, but still, his clothes were damp, and had been so for weeks. The few spare clothes he had brought along were covered in mildew by now, but like everybody else here, Orophin was beyond caring. There were only two things of importance in Tíngel Forest: keeping the Orcs out of the Golden Wood and surviving. In this order.

Orophin tried to get some sleep, but to no avail. The sharp, stabbing pain in his chest kept him awake, just like his longing for Elladan. How did the young one fare? Was everything in order at home? Odd, he thought, to think of Rivendell as 'home', but he guessed that every place was home to him as long as Elladan was there.

The Galadhrim turned onto his other side, coughing again, and when the attack was finally over, he gasped, trying to take a deep breath of air, but failing. Faint, light red sprinkles on his bedroll showed that he had been coughing up blood again. Well, this had to be expected; they all did, sooner or later.

A week ago, re-enforcements from the Golden Wood should have arrived, but they had waited in vain. Had the Lady forgotten about them? When three days later still no troops had shown up, they had sent a messenger to the Lady to inquire what was going on, but of course, it was one week's ride to Calas Galadhon, so news couldn't be expected for quite some days.

And then there were Haldir and Rúmil – he missed them very much, and the thought that he was not there to watch over them pained him greatly. And what about Elladan? Was he angry with him? Or sad? Or had he accepted the situation? Had he told his father? And what had the Lord's reaction been? Maybe Elladan had found another lover? One as young as he certainly was fanciful. It would be better, anyway – things between them just couldn't work.

These thoughts tormented Orophin more than his infected lungs, and kept him up at night. He had fought in many battles, and a soldier's life was second nature to him, but this place got to his core, and the longing for Elladan added to this. He felt light-headed, despite his exhaustion, and at times, it was like he was watching himself, sitting in the mud. When he stood on guard, he saw himself, a tired, pale Galadhrim with dark circles under the eyes, but strangely enough, he didn't care.

Orophin had faced death often before – on the battlefield, in the woods, by sword, by the claws of a Warg or the blade of an Orc, but he had never seen an Elf fading. So he couldn't know that the fading had begun, and that soon, he would hear Mandos' beckoning call.

"Orophin, here – drink this, it will help you."

He turned around, and saw Turmíl crouching by his side, offering him a mug with a steaming fluid which stank like ten unwashed Orcs.

"Ew, what foul draught is that!" He frowned, but took the mug nevertheless.

"Boiled roots. Good for your lungs. It will not stop the illness, but it makes breathing easier. That is, if you survive the taste." The other Elf pulled a face, and Orophin quietly laughed. He took a sip and shuddered.

"Delicious," he gasped.

"Yes, is it not? Who would want Miruvor when given the choice."

The two Elves laughed, and Turmíl sat beside Orophin for a while, making sure he emptied the mug.

"Thank you,” Orophin finally said. "I appreciate your concern."

Turmíl shrugged.

"We cannot survive if we do not help each other. I wonder, Orophin – how come you are here?"

Orophin looked up at his captain. "What do you mean by that?"

Turmil shrugged, then he lay down beside Orophin, propping himself up on an elbow.

"I know you and your brothers. You are one of Lord Celeborn's personal guards. You are highly respected and known as an Elf of honour, whereas we here…" he made a sweeping gesture towards the other sleeping Elves, "…are not exactly what I would call the pride of Lothlórien. We have thieves here, liars, troublemakers, gamblers… you are not like them."

Orophin frowned. "I do not know for sure, but I suspect the family of my beloved did not agree with my choice."

"And that is why you were sent to this rat hole here? What are they – mad?"

Orophin shook his head. "I do not wish to talk about this, Turmil."

"I see,” the other said, and though there were many questions he really wanted to ask, he respected Orophin's wish. Turmil cupped Orophin's cheek, gently caressing the dirt-streaked skin.

"I will not inquire further, but I am not surprised one as fair as you has a beloved."

Orophin gave Turmil a disapproving look, but did not move out of the touch.

"You should not speak to me in such a way," he said.

Turmil moved closer.

"Normal rules do not apply here, and you, as a warrior, certainly know this. My beloved is at home, with our Elflings. I miss her every second of the day, and the only reason I still live is because I want to see them all again. But right here and now, in the wet and the cold, I want you. Let me comfort you, let me make you forget, and all I ask in return is that you hold me, too, and we both can make it sane through another night."

Orophin sighed, closing his eyes. When he felt Turmil's lips on his, he didn't move away, and while his response was not enthusiastic, he returned the kiss. Turmil's skin was hot – the fever, Orophin thought – and he craved the warmth, and the touch of another being.

The captain of the Galadhrim was gentle and caring, and Orophin returned his caresses with the same respect as he received them. But in his mind, he saw Elladan's slate grey eyes, and the hair he ran his fingers through was dark, not silver blond. And without any doubt, Turmil's thoughts were not with him, either, but it didn't matter - not here. Not now.

Later, they lay entwined, Orophin's head resting on Turmil's shoulder.

"I thank you for this gift," the Elf simply said.

Orophin didn't answer, for what could one say to this?

* * *

In the meantime "Operation Orophin" was well on its way, and Rivendell was buzzing with activity.

Swords were sharpened, armours repaired, horses shod, and a small army prepared to head for the Golden Wood to "seriously mistreat Orcish backsides", as Fin had so eloquently put it. Alas, he was not fit for riding, not to mention fighting, so his activities were restricted to giving orders, barking commands, being in the way and driving everybody out of their minds.

Finally, Erestor had enough of the nonsense, and confined the furious Balrog-slayer to his quarters.

"Fin, here is the baby, there is the bottle, and if this should not keep you entertained enough, read another chapter of 'Nana Goose' to Estorel. Just stay out of our braids for the time being, will you?"

"Insult! And you expect me to bind myself to you? Who do you think I am – the Elfling sitter?" Fin howled, though he was secretly grateful to have an excuse to retire to his rooms, for he was in pain, and he was tired. Alas, a warrior like him couldn't admit this, of course.

"No, for the time being, you are Mrs Erestor, and I expect you to fulfil your wifely duties,” Erestor stated, already rushing out of the room again to oversee the kitchen and make sure the warriors got all provisions they needed.

"And how about your wifely duties, Mrs Glorfindel? Any chance before the next age?" Fin asked grumpily, and Erestor laughed.

"Only if you change Estorel's nappies yourself and do not again bribe a chamber maid to do it."

"Me? How can you even think I would do such a thing!" Fin snorted, though it was nothing but the plain truth.

"It is totally up to you, beloved – full nappies, empty bed, cold heart. Make up your mind."

With that Erestor was out of the door, leaving one displeased Balrog-slayer behind. He looked down at his son, who was lying on a soft blanket on the floor and trying once more to catch his own toes, and sighed.

"Estorel, Estorel – we will not have an easy life in this family."

Estorel giggled, thinking that this might be true, but that, on the other hand, this family he had chosen was highly entertaining.

"Yes, just laugh about me, you little Orc – you really are your father's son!"

This, too, was true, and Estorel once again admired the sharp intellect of his father, but being still a tiny Elfling, he decided it was not in his place to comment on this.

* * *

Celeborn looked up from his desk when he heard the faint knock on the door. He was working on the 147th draft of a make-up letter to Galadriel, but somehow he never even made it beyond the first line of greeting.

"Come in,” he called, and he was glad to see it was Haldir and Rúmil, not Elrond, who had an annoying tendency to hold long lectures which were only too true, but not really welcome at the moment.

"My lord," Rúmil greeted him, and bowed; so did Haldir.

"Drop the title, Galadhrim. I am not a lord anymore."

"Nay – you will always be my lord, and nothing will change that," Rúmil firmly stated, and Haldir nodded in agreement.

Celeborn gave the two a warm smile.

"You might as well sit then, my rebellious Galadhrim. Now - do you come to see me about your trip to Tíngel Forest?"

The two brothers exchanged a worried look.

"It is also about this, my lord," Haldir began, rubbing his thighs nervously, "but it is mainly a matter of – family."

"Of family? Why – ah yes, sure – Orophin," Celeborn replied, looking at them expectantly.

"Not only Orophin – my lord, this might seem like a strange moment to raise such questions, but I really need to know how I came to Lothlórien - when I was an infant," Haldir finally said, and it was clear to see he was not comfortable with this discussion.

Celeborn cocked an eyebrow.

"How you came to Lothlórien? Why – you know how this happened. You were an orphan, and I brought you to Amrun and Mya, where Rúmil already lived. He was the first they offered a home to."

"No – I need to know what really happened. The truth. You told me my parents were of noble blood, killed in an ambush, and that I was found and brought to you. But – this cannot be the truth, my lord, with all due respect."

Haldir told Celeborn the whole story of Rabbit's revelation. Celeborn listened intently, and when Haldir finished, there was silence. Celeborn stared at the former captain of his personal guard as if trying to read his mind, and who knew, Haldir thought, maybe this was exactly what he was doing.

"This is the most amazing tale I have ever heard, Haldir. And I understand well why you are so confused. Is Rabbit right? This I cannot tell you, mellon-nîn. To me, you look like a full-elf, and I have never noticed anything to indicate the opposite. But this does not mean anything. Look at Arwen – she was never ill, she never felt the cold, and she is as much or as little human as her brothers. Maybe it is different for each half-elf."

Haldir winced at the term, but Celeborn continued.

"I will tell you what happened back then, Haldir. Many millennia ago, I used to visit a tavern in a town of mortals. You will not be surprised to hear that I was there to play cards and throw the dice rather than to deal out treaties. One night, a very young mortal woman came to see me there. She carried a basket with a tiny Elfling, and that was you, Haldir. She told me to look after you and bring you to your own people.

At first, I suspected that she had stolen you from somewhere, and that a distraught mother was looking for you. But she also seemed seriously concerned, told me that she could not look after you and so I came to the conclusion that there must be some kind of connection between her and you. I admit, I had the suspicion over the years that she might be your mother, a mortal who had gotten involved with some thoughtless Elven warrior passing the town on his way back home, but when you grew up, there was nothing to indicate there was mortal blood in you, so I dropped the idea. But now, after hearing your tale, I must admit: yes, it is possible she was your mother. Very likely so."

Haldir shivered, and Rúmil put his hand on his brother's arm, comforting him.

"My Lord – Rabbit said that Orophin had the 'scent of my tribe'. Is it… is it possible he is a half-elf, too? My brother, maybe?"

Celeborn shook his head.

"The young woman who brought you to me was, oh, it is difficult to tell with mortals, but she cannot have seen more than 17 or 18 winters, and Orophin, when he came to the Golden Wood, was close to reaching majority already, so he was four times her age. Of course, he could be your half-brother, maybe the legitimate son of your father, but this, I am afraid, we will never know. He was abducted when he was very young and has no memory of his parents."

Haldir clutched tightly to the arm rests, not saying a word. Celeborn walked over to him and rested a hand on the shoulder of the distraught Galadhrim.

"Haldir – I understand that you need to know about your roots, your family. But could Orophin be any closer to you if he was your brother by blood? Would you love him more? I do not think so. Do not wear yourself out over this."

The archer nodded.

"No, my lord, I could not love him more if we were really kin. But why did you not tell me the truth earlier? Why have you kept me in the dark for so many years?"

Celeborn sighed.

"You know how some feel about half-elves. I wanted to give you every chance to grow up and lead a life unburdened by the past. Maybe this was wrong, and I beg your forgiveness – but please believe me, I only had your best interest in mind."

Haldir nodded. "I thank you, my lord – for everything."

He wanted to get up, but Celeborn stopped him.

"Wait a moment, Haldir – there is something I need to give to you."

He went over to the desk, opened it and took a large, heavy tome out of it. He flicked through the first pages, then he picked out a small, folded piece of parchment.

"This is my diary – only short notes of the most important things that happened in my life. Shortly after I brought you to Amrun and Mya, I made this drawing. I did not think much of it back then, but for some reason, I wanted to preserve the face of the woman who had brought you to me."

He handed the parchment over to Haldir, who took it hesitantly and finally unfolded it with shaking fingers.

While the drawing would not have stood competition to one of the Great Masters, Celeborn sure had certainly managed to capture the features of a young woman. She was not fair by the standards of the Firstborn, but there was gentleness in her face, and warmth. Haldir stared at the picture for minutes, taking in every line of the young face portrayed, then he gently touched the parchment with the tips of his fingers.

"Nana," he said, and he smiled at Rúmil, "I finally know what my nana looked like."

He carefully folded the parchment and tucked it away in his jerkin, close to his heart.

* * *

"Get away with that cushion, Erestor! I want to die a warrior's death, not be suffocated by a skinny scroll shuffler!"

"Scroll shuffler yourself!" Erestor hissed, and stuffed the extra cushion between the back of the protesting Balrog-slayer and the head-board. He woke up Glorfunkle, who had held a little nap, and the crow protested vocally. Erestor shooed the animal away, then he turned his attention back to his mate.

"You are a nightmare for every healer, Glorfindel of Gondolin, but you will stay here and rest, as you were ordered, even if I have to tie you down!"

Fin grinned at his mate cheekily. "My, Erestor - are we finally getting adventurous?"

Erestor whacked him with another cushion, slightly blushing.

"Are you complaining that your life with me has not been adventurous so far? Do I bore you, Lord Glorfindel?" Erestor cocked an eyebrow, and poked Fin's side.

Fin squirmed and pretended to think carefully about his question. "Now that you ask me, Master Erestor ... indeed, I find our relationship a little - lacking."

"Lacking? Lacking? Nothing is lacking here save your wits, Fin! Why - what is it that lacks? Ropes? Shackles? WHIPS? By the Valar, Glorfindel - you have spent way too much time in the locked department of Elrond's library!"

Fin perked up.

"Locked department? There is a locked department? How come I do not know about this?"

Erestor mentally kicked himself for mentioning this - now that Elrond's well-hidden secret was out, he would never hear the end of it.

"As a matter of fact - yes, there is. And it is none of your business, seneschal," Erestor replied, tilting his long nose arrogantly in the air.

Glorfindel got the all-too-well known predatory expression in his eyes, freed himself of blankets, quilts and cushions, and slowly crawled towards Erestor, careful not to bump his injured arm anywhere, but determined to get to the advisor who sat at the foot of the bed.

"My dearest Erestor - is it possible you had a peek in those books? Have you found anything - interesting? Some forbidden fruit you wish to taste now?"

Erestor groaned.

"Fin, you are unbearable when you are injured - but then, you are also unbearable when you are not. Now be a good Elf and lie back down, you need to rest and I have no patience for your - peculiarities."

Fin, who by now had reached his mate, rested his head in Erestor's lap, stretching out and looking very much like a lazy cat.

"Oh come on, Erestor - humour me. I am an old, weak, crippled Elf, and I would appreciate it very much if you could raise my spirits - among other things."

As usual, all Erestor’s resistance melted under Fin's longing gaze, and he gently ran his fingers over the other Elf's neck and chest. Fin promptly started to purr, and Erestor secretly thought that, if the Balrog-slayer behaved any more catlike, he would have to feed him the milk, rather than Estorel.

"I am waiting..." Fin sing-songed, while he submitted to Erestor's gentle ministrations.

"What for?" Erestor asked, absolutely not willing to get tied up in a discussion on the books in Elrond's secret library. Which, he had noted with interest, all bore Gil-galad's seal and were mostly of a highly erotic content.

"For a detailed description of the content of those secret books, my love. Come on - I'm your soon-to-be-husband, we should have no secrets."

Briefly, his little encounter with Rúmil came to Fin's mind, but he dismissed this immediately.

"There is not much to tell, Fin," Erestor stated, the tips of his fingers gently tracing circles and ornaments on Glorfindel's chest, occasionally brushing a nipple in the process, which resulted in another moan from Glorfindel.

'You beast', Fin thought, 'you know exactly how to drive me out of my mind!' But he was not willing to let go, even if the distraction was as tempting as Erestor in his light sleeping pants, already divested of his tunic, hair unbraided and falling down his chest like a black waterfall.

"Any information is of interest to me, sweet advisor mine. Pray tell - what dark secrets does Elrond hide?"

Fin snuggled closer to Erestor, rubbing his cheek on his belly. There was still a faint scar to be seen from the birth, and his stomach was softer, not as taunt as it used to be. As a matter of fact, all about the willowy advisor had become softer, even his attitude. When Fin watched him holding Estorel, seeing the enchanted expression on the beloved features, he often wondered if this was the way Erestor had looked before duty, losses and pain had taken their toll. 'If I have contributed even a tiny part to this change, I have lived a life worthy of an Elf', Fin thought, then he placed tiny kisses all along the scar.

Erestor looked down, and ran his hands through Fin's hair. He loved the feel of it - it was not soft to the touch, despite its look, but rather wiry, and Erestor never ceased to marvel at its texture. He could sit for hours, just playing with the golden strands, and Fin was not one to deny him the pleasure.

"You are a little bit obsessed with this scar, Fin."

Glorfindel chuckled, then he licked along the pink line on the pale skin.

"I am not. As you know very well, I am obsessed with all of you. But I must admit, you have a very delightful scar here."

Erestor laughed quietly, and Fin turned in his lap, facing the scar in question.

"Indeed - this is by far the most beautiful birthing scar I have ever seen on a male Elf, though it pales in comparison with this exquisite belly-button."

Erestor squirmed when Fin's tongue dipped into the hollow, swirling around the edge.

"This is, I am absolutely sure, not what Elrond meant by 'resting', Fin!" Erestor chided, but since he leant back to give Fin better access, he was probably not completely averse to Fin's ministrations.

Fin grinned. "Elrond said I was not allowed to leave the bed for the next two days, and I have every intention of following his advice."

With that, he lay on his back, taking Erestor with him so the black-haired advisor came to lie on top of him. Erestor bent down, and their lips met for a long, loving kiss. 'Amazing', Fin thought, 'five years already, and still it is like the first time every time we kiss'. He couldn't imagine ever getting used to this, to the comfort of Erestor's warm body next to his, to the bliss of waking up in his arms or, occasionally, on the floor, when his dark-haired mate had a restless night.

Erestor gazed lovingly down at Fin, and closed his eyes, leaning into his touch when the Balrog-slayer cupped his cheek and gently stroked the soft skin with his thumb.

"You know - I feel a little guilty, lying here with my lame wing, while others ride out to battle."

Erestor kissed Fin gently on his nose.

"I know, Fin. I feel the same. Especially as I was the one who encouraged Elladan to do this - but I feel, deep down, that everything will end well, beloved. There is something special about the young one - he has grown up, and there is strength in him he has not yet discovered. You and me, Fin, we have fought our battles. Now it is their turn."

"What - you think me too old to join in battle?" Glorfindel snorted.

Erestor laughed, a merry, heartfelt laughter that Fin loved to hear, then he kissed his mate again.

"I knew it!" Fin howled, "You only love me for my wealth! Without a doubt, you have already got yourself a beautiful young lover somewhere, and the two of you plot how to dispose of my body! Confess! You are having an affair with Melpomaen!"

Erestor pulled a face, then he cocked an eyebrow and pretended to consider this option.

"Oh, this is certainly something I need to think about, dear Lord Glorfindel. To inherit your collection of empty Miruvor bottles is definitely a most tempting thought. But how, I wonder, could I send you to the Halls of Mandos?"

He bent down, and licked a slow, torturing path from Fin's lobe to the tip of his ear.

"I could drown you in a container of Mauburz' perfume," he murmured, then sucked gently on the delicate tip, which elicited a deep groan from his mate. "Or," he continued, nibbling his way back from ear to throat, hovering there for a while, "I could read you the memoirs of King Oropher and bore you to death."

Erestor slowly worked his way down Fin's body, caressing, kissing, stroking, nipping, and when he reached the waistband of Fin's sleeping pants, Fin was as far away from 'resting' as one could possibly be.

"Now that I come to think of it,” Erestor continued his little lecture in an almost bored tone while he unlaced the pants and slipped them over Fin's hips, "the appropriate death for you would be being teased to death".

Fin propped up on his one good arm, looking down at his lover, who was watching him with a downright wicked grin on his face, wetting his lips with his tongue in a very slow, very seductive way.

"Erestor - are you about to do what I think you will?"

Erestor thought about it for a moment, as if he was undecided, then he looked down at the task at hand, so to speak, and nodded.

"I think I can confirm this."

"Then," Fin said, dropping back in the soft cushions, sighing happily, "I shall die a happy elf."

* * *

Rúmil was saddling his horse and checking one last time the contents of his two saddle bags. It was still early, but he wanted to be prepared and ready to leave on time. He was deeply worried – for Orophin, but also for the Golden Wood and the Lady Galadriel. Something evil was lurking, and as much as he enjoyed staying here in Rivendell, Lothlórien was his home, and he couldn't wait to return.

Celeborn entered the stable, dressed in a borrowed robe of dark green colour. A leftover from Thrandúil's last visit, Rúmil thought, but he was wise enough to hold his tongue.

"My lord," he greeted Celeborn, and bowed. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, there is, Rúmil. With Haldir no longer under my command and Orophin in Tíngel, the command over the guards – the ones still obeying my orders – is upon you. I just wanted to wish you good luck, mellon, and – the first priority is to keep Lothlórien safe, Rúmil. I know that you are very upset with Lady Galadriel for sending your brother to Tíngel. But the blame has to be mine as well, that things have gone so wrong, and I wish you to promise me that, no matter what happens, no harm shall befall my wife."

Rúmil nodded.

"You have my word. I swore my bow and arrows and life to the Lord and the Lady of the Golden Wood, and nothing can make me break my vow. I shall die for her if necessary."

"This I know, though I would certainly prefer that you live."

For a while, the two stood in silence, and Rúmil had the feeling that this was not the only reason the Lord had sought his company. And he was right.

"Rúmil – I would like to tell you that, as far as you are concerned, I have always been honest. You were really found and freed by Elrond and brought to my care."

"I know. I remember well," Rúmil said, patting the horse.

"You remember? But – how can you?" asked Celeborn confused.

"I remember everything, my lord. My rescue and – the things that happened before."

A shadow fell on the younger Elf's face, and Celeborn knew better than to touch on memories too painful to recall.

"I also remember my family."

"You do? But why did you never tell me?"

Rúmil shrugged.

"First, I did not want to talk about it, and then the memory faded. I had long become Rúmil of the Northern March, and this is who I am. What good would it have done to call up the past?"

Celeborn sat down on a bale of hay, staring up at the Galadhrim, shaking his head.

"So, tell me, Rúmil – who were your parents then, and where did you come from?"

"My father was Beleth, a Galadhrim. My mother was Rhinwë. She was the town healer."

"YOU are the son of Beleth and Rhinwë?" Celeborn cried out, and jumped up. "I knew your parents! Your ada was a great and noble warrior, he was captain of the Galadhrim. We all mourned his early death, so soon after your birth. And your mother – oh, she was a formidable lady, one of the best archers we ever had, and a stunning beauty. She cured more than one sore head of mine! I – held her in very high regard."

Rúmil smiled at his lord – if only he had said something earlier, then he could have talked about his family years ago, but it warmed his heart to know that his loved ones had not been forgotten.

"So you are Orod then. By the Valar, that I live to see this day."

"No," Rúmil replied, and he choked down the lump forming in his throat, "I am not Orod - I am Calen. Orod was my older brother. He and my mother – they both died."

Celeborn shook his head.

"Calen? But Beleth and Rhinwë had only one son -– Orod. Beleth died when his son was still an Elfling."

Rúmil was confused. "I cannot say, my lord – maybe you confuse things? It was a long time ago, after all. My father died when I was still an Elfling, that is true – I actually cannot remember him."

If somebody had poured a bucket of ice-water over Celeborn's head, he couldn't have shivered more. His legs refused to carry him, and he dropped back down on the bale of hay.

"My lord – what is wrong with you? Are you not feeling well? Shall I go and fetch Lord Elrond?" Rúmil asked, worried at the sudden change in the so-far very cheerful mood of his lord, who now sat in front of him as pale as if he had seen a Ringwraith.

"NO! By the Valar – NOT Elrond!" Celeborn gasped, raking his hair with his fingers, staring at the younger Elf in front of him.

"My lord – I hope that, if I return safely and you will feel better, you can tell me some tales about my ada, as you knew him. It pained my mother to talk about him, so I never asked, but I would dearly like to know what he was like."

Celeborn closed his eyes for a moment, recalling a discussion he had once had with Amrun over the three Elflings the captain had adopted.

 

\- - - FLASHBACK CELEBORN - - -

 

"You know that Orophin was a menace when he reached majority, my Lord, but believe me, he was not half the trouble Rúmil is! If I had a gold coin for every angry father who claims the young one is responsible for the loss of his daughter's innocence, I could retire and buy a cabbage farm in the Shire! Last night, he came home, his brain fogged with wine, and last week, I caught him teaching Haldir how to throw the dice!”

Celeborn laughed and slapped his old friend's back. "Ai, Amrun, do not despair, it will pass. This is the way the young ones are – I was the same when I came of age."

Amrun sighed.

"This is not a prospect I am too happy with, my lord!"

 

\- - - end of flashback - - -

 

Celeborn opened his eyes again. His head was spinning, and he desperately needed to get out of the stable and take a breath of fresh air.

"Rúmil," he said, and he successfully managed to get back on his legs, "all I can tell you right now is that you are every bit like your father."

The Galadhrim smiled, proudly, and Celeborn would have given anything for a bottle of Thrandúil's 2948 2nd Ager.

For indeed - Rúmil was every bit like his father.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rúmil comes to Galadriel's rescue. But meanwhile, Orophin is losing hope, and a scary black Elf appears on the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Tea. It was tea. He sniffed the mug with the steaming dark liquid, and all his powers wouldn't change it to Shire Brandy or Miruvor, though Shire Brandy or Miruvor were exactly the thing he needed right now.

There could be no doubt; the Valar hated him.

Celeborn sighed, head propped on one hand, and pushing the mug around with the other. Then he started to draw little designs by running his finger through the damp circle the mug had left on the table. There was still one hour to go till sunrise, but everybody seemed to be awake, busy with some important task or other; only he was sitting here, useful like a fifth horseshoe.

He hadn't slept a wink last night - the conversation with Rúmil had left him utterly confused, so he went for a walk in the garden. Beleth and Rhinwë - by the Valar, he hadn't thought of them for ages! Beleth had been as close a friend as a lord could have among the Galadhrim. They had shared the same quick wit and love for merriment, and many a bottle of wine had been emptied between them. Rhinwë, his wife, was well aware of her husband's "various interests", as she had discreetly put it, but there was never any discord between these two. They loved each other, and Rhinwë once remarked that it did not really matter where the body was as long as the heart knew the way back home. She had been remarkable, he remembered - she had a profound knowledge of healing herbs, and knew how to handle the bow. He couldn't remember her not laughing or at least smiling, something he had found very enchanting.

Beleth had fallen in an ambush, leaving his wife with an Elfling behind. Rhinwë had not smiled anymore, and it had been a natural thing for him to care for the small family. Celeborn made sure they got all they needed, and when, after a couple of years, she had asked him one night to stay, he had complied. Had he loved her? No, but there had been a deep friendship and mutual respect, and if Galadriel knew about it, she had never mentioned it. Celeborn also remembered Orod as a shy, serious youngster, nose always in the books - he remembered him quite well, actually, but whom he did not remember at all was his younger brother.

There had been no brother. He was absolutely sure. But there had been a note, one day, begging him not to visit anymore, she would leave Lothlórien, and thanking him for all he had done. This had come as a surprise, but, respecting her wishes and assuming that she had found a new mate, he never saw her again. When, some years later, the news that the small village she had lived in had been destroyed and all citizens killed, he had mourned, but the pain had not been deep and ever-present like the one he had experienced when his beloved daughter left.

While he hadn't given much thought to her reasons for ending their affair back then, now all was clear to him. She had been with child - his child. Calen - who was now known as Rúmil of Lórien. By the Valar - had he lost a daughter to now gain son? Celeborn raked his fingers through his hair. This was just too much for one Elf to understand!

He finally got up from the table and made his way through the great hall, out into the courtyard. The archers and sword fighters were all gathered, checking their weapons once again, calming excited horses, chatting. They were off to Tíngel, to drive the evil finally out of the forest, a task that rightly should have been done long ago, and by him. He had neglected his duties, and for this, there were no excuses.

He looked across the courtyard, and yes, there he was, talking to Haldir. Celeborn watched Rúmil’s every movement, trying to find a familiar motion, something he might have in common with the Galadhrim. Yes - there was something. He couldn't say "the nose" or "the eyes", but there was something in Rúmil's face, something he recognized. Arrogance? Self-confidence? He couldn't tell, but this was, without a doubt, his son. His son. Slowly, the significance of it sunk in, and Celeborn didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Lost a daughter, won a son - wonderful, from one point of view, but the revelation that he had an illegitimate son would not exactly get Galadriel in the mood to forgive him any time soon.

'I better let sleeping dogs lie for the time being,’ Celeborn thought, ' there is time enough to sort out this chaos after we have sorted out the mess in Tíngel.' Rúmil, who had been about to get on his horse and ride ahead to Lothlórien, looked up, noticing that he was being watched. When he saw his lord's eyes rest on him, he bowed his head and smiled.

Celeborn winced. This was going to be a very long trip.

* * *

Erestor, tall, quiet, and, as usual, dressed in black, Glorfunkle on his shoulder, stood on the top of the stairs, supporting the still weak Glorfindel and overseeing the preparations for the departure. So was Elrohir, who had loudly protested against his father's order to stay at home, but had finally obeyed, seeing that he was not the warrior in the family and more of a hindrance than a help in battle.

"Up and ready, Celeborn?" a cheerful voice asked, and when the former lord of Lothlorien turned around, he saw a slightly familiar looking Elf brush by, heading for Elrond's horse who was waiting patiently in the courtyard, held by one of the stable grooms. Only then did Celeborn realise that the Elf in armour with the warrior braids, twin knives on his back and the late Gil-galad's sword on his side was none other than the Lord of Imladris himself.

"Elrond?" he gasped, staring at his son-in-law in disbelief.

"What what what – did you think I would let my child ride out alone? Every sword is needed, dear Celeborn, and though you might think me to be a bookworm and scroll-shuffler by now, I can assure you that I still know how to wield a sword and gut an Orc," Elrond nonchalantly remarked, waving an elegant hand in the air.

Everybody stared at Elrond, till he finally got tired of the attention, and gave them all The Eyebrow. Turning to Elrohir he said: "Son – until my return, you shall be the Lord of Rivendell. I trust you to do everything to protect this realm and our people. Listen to Erestor, who will give you good advice, trust Glorfindel to protect our borders, and for the Valar's sake, Elrohir, do keep your hands off of my thimble collection."

With that, he took Vilya off his finger, where the Ring of Power had been for millennia, and gave it to Elrohir, who accepted this responsibility with trembling fingers.

"But ada," he protested weakly, "I… I do not know how to use… this."

Elrond took the ring out of his son's hand again, and placed it firmly on Elrohir's finger. The young Elf immediately felt the ring shrinking, adjusting to his own, smaller finger, and a prickling sensation spread from the jewel all through his body.

"You are not supposed to use it, Elrohir. When her services are needed, Vilya will know herself what she has to do. As long as your heart is honest and your deeds fair, she will not fail you."

He hugged his son, and Elrohir pressed his father close to his chest.

"Take care, Ada, please all come back unharmed. I do not have a good feeling about all this."

Elrond smiled.

"Do not worry, penneth – we will return."

With that, he went to his horse, and soon, the Rivendell army was on its way to Tíngel Forest. Erestor's thoughtful look followed them for a long while, till the last rider had disappeared in the distance.

When he felt Glorfindel's healthy arm wrap around his middle, he leant in, resting his head on the warrior's shoulder, while Glorfunkle rose up and flew ahead, through the Great Hall up to their chambers.

"I wish I could join them," Fin said, and sighed. Erestor did not reply to this, he only kissed him softly on the cheek and secretly thanked the Valar for Fin's injury.

His heart was heavy – even he did not have a good feeling about all this.

* * *

Fin was bored. Not only was he confined to his bed, he didn't even have Erestor or Estorel to keep him company. His beloved advisor was sitting in a meeting with Elrohir and some Dwarf lord, and he had taken Estorel with him, safely tucked away in his basket. Meoin II had been so enchanted by the Elven infant, the first he had ever seen in his life, that the first half hour had been spent with discussions about children, babies, toys and sleeping habits. Meoin II, it seemed, was father of no less than 15 little Dwarflings, and therefore an expert in the field of babies. He gave Erestor the good advice to feed the baby mead from an early age on, as this would strengthen his bones.

Erestor, who would have rather had his teeth pulled than feed Estorel any alcoholic beverage, had managed a smile, and the conversation only came to a halt when advisor Feronil announced that a kin slaying could not be prevented if he heard the word "Elfling" once more today.

Being in bed was fun as long as Erestor was there, too. But as he wasn't, Fin decided after two hours that he needed some distraction. With Elrond gone and Erestor in a meeting, the library was deserted - what a wonderful opportunity to sneak in and have a look around Elrond's locked department! Ever since Erestor had mentioned the "hidden books", Fin was dying to learn about their content. Erestor's blush when approached about it had given him a clue, and so Fin, always eager to learn new things, slipped into his clothes and out of the door, sneaking through the corridors of the Last Homely House like a thief in the night. Soon enough, he stood in the library. He had been here thousand of times, but where was the forbidden part?

He checked the shelves to the left and to the right, and finally, he saw the entrance to another room, parted from the main library with a heavy curtain. 'Aha', Fin thought, 'this looks hidden enough for me!' He looked over his shoulder, just to make sure he wasn't watched, then he slipped behind the curtain, and found himself confronted with two rows of shelves, loaded with books and scrolls. If Fin had been the least bit interested in books, he might have noticed this part of the library millennia ago, but usually, he avoided every book that had more letters than pictures, and he preferred the training ground to the library. 'Scroll-shufflers' did not rank too high in his personal scale of regard, unless it was Erestor, of course.

"Well, well, well, now let us see what treasures dear old Elrond hides away from us peasants," Fin said to himself, and grinned. He just picked the first book in reach, a small, leather-bound tome, its title promising "Mirkwood Love Secrets".

"My, my, Elrond, you old rascal..." Fin grinned, then he sat comfortably on the floor, opening the book.

Interesting. Most interesting. Just the thing for Fin - not much text, but many pictures. Most inspiring illustrations, actually - even Fin, who was skilled in the art of love, was fascinated, no, awed by some of the positions shown here. For over an hour he kept on reading, then, when reaching page 257, he turned the book upside down, frowning.

"By the Valar," he said to himself, "I could not do this on my own - not to mention with somebody on top of me!"

"Really? How can you tell if you never tried?" The amused voice made him jump, and Fin quickly clapped the book close.

"Oh. Darling. How – nice to see you. Had a good day?"

Erestor shook his head, and took the book out of Fin's hands.

"Glorfindel,” he began, and Fin winced, for any sentence Erestor began with 'Glorfindel' tended to end in a lengthy and mostly unpleasant lecture, "my dear, dear Glorfindel, I so knew you would try to sneak in here sooner or later."

Fin, feeling like an Elfling caught stealing a cookie, slightly blushed, and this alone, Erestor thought, was worth the effort of sneaking up on him. He cocked an eyebrow, and studied the illustration in the book, rubbing his chin.

"Most interesting. This certainly requires a certain level of physical fitness, and a very balanced equilibrium. Indeed – I do not think you would be up for this challenge."

Fin jumped up.

"My equilibrium is very balanced, thank you very much! And if it was not for this lame wing, I would help you balance out yours!"

"My, now would you?" Erestor purred, put the book aside and pushed Fin gently against the shelf.

"Oh, but certainly I would. When it comes to balance, I surely could teach you a trick or two."

Erestor, who by now had already his hands under Fin's tunic and was slowly kissing his way up from throat to ear, snickered.

"Could you? Now, this sounds promising, dear Glorfindel. Well – if you are up for teaching, then I am up for learning."

"Your study or mine?" Fin asked husky-voiced, and Erestor grinned.

"I follow your lead, dear teacher. Can I trust your honourable intentions?"

Fin looked down at him, all hurt honour and indignation.

"Erestor! Really! Have my intentions ever been anything but honourable?"

"Yes," Erestor replied, running his hand up Fin's thigh, "all the time, and do not dare to change anything about it."

Erestor growled, and then he nuzzled Fin's chest.

"Love, what are you doing?"

"Mmmm... I really like your scent."

"My scent?"

Now, this was a new one. Erestor actually purred, and rubbed his face on Fin's chest, like a cat who wants to be petted. 'This I can do', Glorfindel thought, 'and not that I want to complain, but this is a rather odd behaviour'.

More growling came from Erestor, and if Fin had had a hand free, he'd certainly have scratched his head over this so far unrevealed feral side of his mate. But then again: why question presents if you can enjoy them?

"To say it with our dear guardian: you. My bedchamber. NOW." With that, Erestor let go of Fin, and beckoned him to follow. Fin was more than ready to comply, but before he left, he quickly grabbed for the book and slipped it under his tunic.

"Be afraid, oh Erestor," he grinned.

* * *

'Now what kind of welcome is this', Rúmil thought, when he halted his horse by the royal talan. First there had been no guardians to greet him when he had entered the Golden Wood, not the tip of an ear to be seen when he rode into Calas Galadhron, and now his sight was blinded by a piece of cloth the wind had blown in his face.

He grabbed it, eyeing it suspiciously and sniffing. He knew this scent - it was that awful perfume the Lady Galadriel used, the one that smelled almost as bad as "L'eau de Mordor". What was going on here – where was everybody? And why were the trees losing their leaves?

Rúmil was not frightened, for little could scare him. Blessed with a healthy confidence, there were few tasks he thought he could not handle, and Galadriel was none of them. He had a lot of questions, and he would not leave before he had answers. He entered the great hall, but other than more leaves which covered the floor, nothing unusual could be seen – the fact aside that at this time of the day, this place would normally be humming and buzzing with the voices of hundreds of Elves, and now, there was silence, deadly silence.

Rúmil scratched his head, and took a firm hold of the hilt of his sword – one never knew.

Finally, he saw something moving.

"You there, stop!" he called, and the Elf addressed stopped frozen in his stride, turning to Rúmil with a scared expression on his face.

"What happened here!" the Galadhrim demanded to know, and the Elf, one of the servants, shrugged, fiddling with his hands.

"The Lord has gone, the Lady has given in to sadness, and the Golden Wood is dying, guardian. We have not made our mind up yet whether we shall pass to the Havens or go to live somewhere else, but all things good and fair have left the Golden Wood."

Rúmil snorted.

"What a lot of nonsense. Do not be so melodramatic, for the Valar's sake. You cannot possibly leave our home just because some trees are shedding their robes – happens all the time other places!"

The Elf ducked, eyeing Rúmil as if he was crazy.

"Do not speak so harshly in this place! The Lady would not approve!"

Rúmil rolled his eyes.

"Good – I shall ask her myself. Where is she? Staring into her bird bath again?"

Wincing, the servant shook his head.

"She is in her study, as always. Looking out of the window. But you cannot go to her now. She does not want to see anybody."

"Well, I guess this is not her lucky day then, because I wish to see her, and I shall!"

With that, Rúmil passed by the distraught and protesting Elf, and ran light-footed up the stairs to the royal chambers. Arriving in front of Galadriel's study, he knocked on the door, but there came no answer.

"My lady? My lady, it is I, Rúmil – I bring news from Rivendell and Tíngel Forest."

No answer, so Rúmil knocked again.

"Lady Galadriel – I know that you are in there, and I need to speak to you."

Silence.

Rúmil wasn't patient on his best days, and this certainly was not one. After he knocked and called two more times, he decided he had done courtesy enough honour, and opened the door. He found Galadriel sitting by the window, looking out over her realm, and it looked as if she hadn't heard Rúmil enter.

"My lady?" the Galadhrim asked again, and finally, she looked up, frowning.

"Rúmil? How did you get in my chamber? Who let you in?"

He bowed in greeting.

"I knocked several times, but there was no answer."

"Ah."

This was all she said, then she looked out of the window again, as if Rúmil wasn't there at all. He waited for a while, but when no further reaction came, he decided to get right to the point.

"My lady – what has happened here? Where is everybody?"

Galadriel sighed.

"He has left the Golden Wood."

Rúmil, correctly assuming that "he" was Lord Celeborn, nodded impatiently.

"Yes, this I know, but this does not answer my question. What is going on here? This looks more like a graveyard than my home!"

She shrugged.

"Our time has come to an end, my child. I will go west, and take my people with me."

"Go west? What do you mean by 'go west' – do you intend to abandon us and the Golden Wood?"

She looked up.

"Look out here, my child - what is there left to abandon?"

As already mentioned, Rúmil wasn't a very patient Elf, more one of the practical kind, and this was too melodramatic for his taste.

"With all due respect, my lady – you cannot get us all in a mess and then just cross over the sea and leave us here to deal with it. You have quite a situation in Tíngel Forest, and we need to act now to get it under control, unless you wish to find one morning an Orc in your bathroom using your lavender soap."

This bold speech triggered what little was left of the Galadriel of the old days, and she got up, glaring at Rúmil.

"How dare you talk to me like this – you forget your place!"

Rúmil, who was not only impatient, but also of a rather fiery temper, shook his head.

"My place is here – in the Golden Wood. I swore to protect it with my life, my lady, and this I will do. I am nothing but a simple Galadhrim, I know nothing of politics and I certainly do not have your spirituality or the Gift of Seeing, but you DID make a mess here, and we are the ones to suffer. You have sent my brother to Tíngel Forest, to almost certain death, and if you expect me to let you flee to the Havens without sorting this out and getting him back, then You! Are! Wrong!"

The last words he accentuated by poking her with his index finger, an action he would never have dared before, and Galadriel's face reddened in anger.

"You accuse me of sending your brother to death? How dare you! I have only separated him from my grandson to protect him!"

"Protect him? Elladan from Orophin?"

Rúmil looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"Orophin would die for Elladan – as a matter of fact, this is very likely to happen, as you have sent him to the Forest of Death. If you intended to kill him, why did you not do it yourself instead of leaving the dirty deed to the Orcs?" he shouted.

"Do you call me a kin slayer, Galadhrim? Have you forgotten who it is you speak to?" Galadriel shouted back, her fingers curling into fists.

"No, I have not forgotten who I talk to. All the harder it is for me to believe you did do such a foul deed!"

Galadriel shook her head.

"I have seen him in the mirror, Rúmil. He was trying to kill Elladan, and I could not bear to lose another member of my family. Why he acted this way, I do not know, but I owe it to my daughter to keep her children safe. Tíngel is not a comfortable place to be, that is true, but it is no more dangerous there than anywhere else."

"Your mirror? You have seen in the mirror that Orophin was trying to kill Elladan?" Rúmil called out, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Galadriel nodded. "And now you will leave this chamber this very moment. I order you to join your brother on duty in Tíngel Forest, and I do not wish you to darken my door again."

Rúmil had had enough now.

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen," he groaned, then he grabbed Galadriel's arm and dragged her towards the door.

"Leave me be! Guards! Guards! I am attacked!"

Rúmil shook her, rather violently.

"My lady! There are no guards. Your guards are hiding. And the guards of Lord Celeborn will not come to your aid. So, you and I will now go down the stairs and up to this cursed bird bath of yours, and I will have a look into the mirror myself. There are two ways you can get there: either walking or dragged by your hair after a good spanking – make your choice!"

Galadriel's mind might have been slightly fogged, but she knew immediately that Rúmil was serious. For the fraction of a moment, she was reminded of Celeborn in his wild warrior days, but this moment passed quickly, and she decided that, for the time being, she would play along. Once they were out of the Talan, her guards would surely come to her help.

She gave Rúmil an angry glare, then she followed him out of the door and down the stairs, and he did not let go of her arm even for a second. On their way to the mirror, Galadriel looked to the left and right, but there was not a single soul, and only now did she notice how quiet the Golden Wood was – no voices, no birds singing, only the soft rustling of the leaves on the ground.

And for the first time for many millennia, Galadriel was scared.

* * *

Night had fallen, and the rain had ceased, so the Galadhrim in Tíngel Forest were gathered around the small fire. The last night, they had been attacked again by a band of Orcs; while they managed to fight the beasts back, three of their own had fallen, and their pyres had burned all day long. Now, the remaining warriors, tired, worn out, depressed and ill, stared into the fire, wondering when their own pyre would burn. They had given up hope for re-enforcements. The lady had obviously decided to let them rot out here.

"I wish I could sing," Turmíl finally broke the silence, "I dreamt last night of our home, and I heard them singing. I miss it."

Orophin, who sat in front of him, his head resting on his captain's thigh, looked up. They had come to an agreement everybody knew of but nobody talked about. It was an arrangement of comfort, which went further than friendship but was not love, a strong bond between warriors, maybe frowned upon if forged in times of peace, but now, here, nobody found anything odd about it.

"I know a song," Orophin finally said, "one befitting our situation. I learned it long ago."

He coughed, then cleared his throat. Finally, he began to sing, and his odd, rusty voice gave the melody a haunting quality.

 

"There were three ravens sat on a tree,  
Down a down, hey down, hey down,  
They were as black as black might be,  
With a down.  
The one of them said to his mate,  
Where shall we our breakfast take?  
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down

Down in yonder green field,  
Down, a down, hey down, hey down,  
There lies an Elf slain 'neath his shield,  
With a down.  
His hounds they lie down at his feet,  
So well they do their master keep,  
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

His hawks they fly so eagerly,  
Down a down, hey down, hey down,  
No other fowl dare come him night,  
With a down.  
Down there comes a fallow doe  
As great with young as might she go  
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down

She lifted up his bloody head,  
Down a down, hey down, hey down,  
And kissed his wounds that were so red,  
With a down.  
She got him up upon her back,  
And carried him to earthen lake,  
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down

She buried him before the prime  
Down a down, hey down, hey down,  
She was dead herself ere e'en-song time,  
With a down.  
The Valar send every Elf,  
Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman.  
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down."

 

Orophin broke off, staring into the fire. Then he got up, rather abruptly, and walked over to his bedroll. Shortly after, Turmíl join him, and he felt strong arms embrace him and a soft kiss was placed on his ear.

"Do not despair,” he said, burying his face in Orophin's hair, "we will get through this – alive."

"Will we?" Orophin said, leaning back into the caress. "I do not think so. I only wish I…"

He broke off, shaking his head.

"Wished what, mellon?"

"I wish – I could see him again. Only once. I miss him. And I know he misses me, too."

Turmíl got angry. He did not know the name of Orophin's beloved, but this he knew: he would not have abandoned him, he would have followed him to Mordor and back if necessary. From some of Orophin's remarks Turmíl concluded that the Galadhrim had fallen for some spoilt noble brat's game; it was well known what a frivolous bunch the Rivendell Elves were, and he felt pity for Orophin, though he would never have told him. They all needed something, someone to hold onto out here, and if Orophin needed to believe that his lover was still waiting for him, so be it.

Orophin turned around, facing his captain.

"You think me a fool, do you not," he said, but there was no anger in his eyes, only – amusement? Was this possible?

"Maybe," he honestly answered, and gently traced Orophin's jaw line with his finger.

"Not more foolish than any of us, I guess."

Orophin rested his head under Turmíl's chin.

"I know him. I have known him for many millennia, since he was a babe. I am not wrong about him."

"Would he approve of – this?"

Orophin thought about it for a while.

"He would understand it."

"A remarkable young Elf he seems to be, your mysterious beloved," Turmíl said, "if you were mine, I would not share you."

There was a light in Orophin's eyes, a short flash, and he smiled, for the first time in many days.

"He is remarkable, my friend."

"Without a doubt,” Turmíl replied, gently stroking Orophin's hair.

And indeed: Orophin had no doubt. That was why he clung on to life.

* * *

Rúmil's legs were considerably longer than Galadriel's, so she had to walk rather fast to keep up with him. She had no idea what had gotten into the Galadhrim to treat her thus, but there was a natural authority about him she did not dare to defy.

Finally, they hastened down the stairs towards the mirror, and Rúmil pushed her towards it.

"So, my lady, and now you and I will have a look into your bird bath. I want to see what you see."

She hesitated a moment, then she went over to the well, filled the carafe with spring water and stood close to the mirror, pouring the liquid into it.

First, she could see nothing, but when the surface smoothed out, pictures started to show. She concentrated on the attack she had witnessed on her grandson, and the mirror showed her Orophin, hitting Elladan in the face.

"Come here – see for yourself," she said, almost triumphantly, though it pained her to see her oldest grandchild suffer. Rúmil did as he was asked, and looked into the mirror. He saw Orophin, binding Elladan.

"My lady – this he did to protect Elladan. He wanted to make sure the young one would not follow him to Tíngel Forest, knowing how dangerous the place is. And he would not have had to do this if you had not sent him there in the first place!"

Galadriel stared at Rúmil, confusion clearly on her face.

"But the mirror…" she began, but the Galadhrim cut her off.

"The mirror, the mirror – have you ever considered that the mirror might not show you the truth? Or show only a part of it?"

She shook her head. "The mirror has never betrayed me," she stubbornly insisted.

"No? Well then – show me Tíngel Forest," Rúmil demanded, and again, Galadriel obeyed.

Rúmil stared down in the water – this could not be. This was a forest, true enough, but not the Tíngel Forest he knew. The trees shown were green, and the Galadhrim on guard were laughing and joking, while others sat around a fire, preparing a meal.

"This is not what Tíngel looks like, my lady."

"Of course it is! Can you not see? Do you think I would send any of my people there if the place was as bad as you say? What do you think me to be – a kin slayer?" Galadriel sharply asked, glaring at Rúmil.

He shook his head, and took the carafe out of her hand.

"Give me that thing – let us see what the mirror will show me."

Before Galadriel could hold him back, he attempted to pour some water in the basin.

"You fool – only I and the lord – the former lord of the Golden Wood can rule the mirror! It does not obey a mere Galadhrim!"

Alas, the very moment the water touched the surface of the mirror, a dazzling flash emerged from it, so bright that Rúmil dropped the carafe and the two Elves had to cover their eyes, afraid of being blinded.

"What have you done! What is this!" she called out, and stared into the mirror.

It was the same picture as before – and then again, it wasn't. It was Tíngel Forest – but the trees were not green, but of a dark, rotten colour; it was raining, and the Elves gathered around the small fire looked frail and sick. There was an atmosphere of such sadness and despair about this scene that Galadriel felt tears sting in her eyes.

Rúmil grabbed her arm again.

"See my lady? THIS is Tíngel Forest, this is where you have sent my brother and many good Elves! This is the truth – your mirror only showed you what you wanted to see, or what it deemed fit to show you, and you believed it without questioning the truth!"

"No… this cannot be…" Galadriel whispered, covering her mouth with her hands, staring down at the changing pictures, of Orcs attacking, Elves maimed, funeral pyre's burning.

"This is reality, my lady. And now you must act upon it!" Rúmil pleaded, shaking her.

For a while, Galadriel didn't move at all. Then, obviously coming to a decision, she straightened up.

"Rúmil, lead my guards to Tíngel Forest. Take every Elf the Golden Wood can spare, and drive the vermin out of it for all time. Bring our Galadhrim home safely. I have failed, for this I must pay – but not them."

Rúmil let her go, and sank to his knees.

"My lady – I will bring them back or die trying."

He felt her hand resting on his head, and he looked up.

She stared at him, and he felt her mind, like a warm summer breeze, like a gentle hand touching.

"I see…" she finally said, "I should have known all along."

Rúmil didn't understand what she was talking about, but the words "Tíngel Forest", "guards" and "bring them home" he understood very well, and so he quickly got up and made towards the stairs, but then he hesitated, turned around, and returned.

"Please forgive me, my lady, but it has to be done."

With that, he drew his sword, raised it, and with a deafening noise, the blade collided with Galadriel's mirror, splitting it in two. Sparks flew, the water spilled to all sides, and an evil stench filled the air.

Galadriel and Rúmil both stared at the pedestal the mirror had stood on.

Imbedded in the stone lay a ring.

* * *

The Orcs attacked two hours before sunrise, and they outnumbered the Galadhrim by far. They were also well-nourished and healthy, not ill and weak like the Elves, and if it hadn't been for the unbroken spirit of the Firstborns and their archery skills, the death toll might have been even higher than it was. There could, however, be no doubt that this was a lost battle. For every Orc slain, two more seemed to grow out of the rotten ground, and the Galadhrim were falling back.

Turmíl had been wounded early on, but he kept on fighting for his life, and Orophin stayed close to him, covering his back as well as possible. He had taken a blow to the arm, and he was quickly losing the little strength he had left.

While he fought off another of the foul beasts, his eye was caught by an Elf walking among the fighters, hands folded behind his back, at times standing still and watching the battle, then continuing his walk, as if he were strolling through a garden, admiring the flowers. He looked like a Noldo, long black hair cascading down his back, and he was dressed in black robes, which enhanced the paleness of his skin. He was very fair of face, but his eyes were like two pieces of coal, and this strange figure frightened Orophin more than the Orc in front of him who tried to maul him.

From time to time, the stranger stepped closer to an Elf, gently tipping his shoulder, and the touched one fell, slain. Orophin didn't have the time to watch every move the stranger made, but he was there, ever present.

Suddenly, there was a voice, whispering in Orophin's ear.

"It is time to go, my child."

The voice was gentle, polite, it was more an invitation than an order, but one not permitting any kind of gainsaying.

"No," Orophin hissed through clenched teeth, fighting back the Orc who tried to bring him down, "I will not go yet."

Now the Dark Elf stood beside the Orc, watching the battle with an odd amusement.

"That is not for you to decide, my child. I am calling you, and you must follow. Let go. Your time is up."

"It is not! I will not go before I have seen Elladan again!" Orophin gasped, and slew the Orc with a last, desperate blow of his blade. Staggering, he stood over the corpse, his heart racing.

"Good - as the harvest was so rich today - I will wait." the stranger said, his black eyes looking right into Orophin's soul. "But I will not negotiate our agreement. When your time has come, I will call you, and you will follow. Do I have your word?"

"You have it," Orophin moaned, feeling dizzy.

"So we have an agreement then," the stranger nodded, bowed his head in a mock salute, and turned around. For a heart-stopping second, Orophin thought he would touch Turmíl, but instead, he disappeared - where to, Orophin could not tell, he just was not there anymore.

Before Orophin could take another moment to sort this strange incident out, he heard horns. Now this could not possibly be...

But it was. Hundreds and hundreds of warriors stormed into the clearing, and the Orcs, blinded by the shining armour and the sparkle of the swords, fell back, surprised and overwhelmed by the joined forces of Rivendell and Lothlórien. Rúmil led the Galadhrim, joined by Celeborn who rode closely by his side, and riding ahead of the Rivendell Elves - Elladan.

"You have come," Orophin whispered.

* * *

The battle was short - the Orcs had no chance, outnumbered as they were, and while those who had been slain were burnt, small groups of Galadhrim hunted down the beasts who had managed to escape into the bushes. The fallen Elves were gathered; their bodies would be brought back to the Golden Wood.

Celeborn was shattered. He had known Tíngel Forest to be a rough place, but this - this he had not expected. How could he have let this go on for so long - how could he have allowed his personal problems to have such an impact on his duties and his responsibilities! He was not worthy to be the Lord of the Golden Wood, at least on this point he agreed with his wife. Celeborn sat on a stone, close to the place the bodies of the Galadhrim were gathered, and he cried. His people left him alone, feeling that their lord needed time to come to terms with the things that had happened here. They all did.

While the Galadhrim hunted the remaining Orcs, the Elves from Rivendell pitched tents, and quickly, the exhausted and injured Galadhrim were carried inside, stripped of their sodden clothes, given dry and warm ones and covered with blankets. Provisions were taken out, fires started and food cooked. Elrond and Elladan looked after the wounded, and they both got increasingly worried when they found all of the Lórien warriors coughing heavily and fighting for every breath. None of them had ever encountered such an illness among the Firstborn, and Elrond had to think long before he came up with a remedy. He sent out some guards to collect a certain root, to be cooked and prepared in a draught, hoping this would at least lessen the pain and make the breathing easier.

Orophin had stubbornly refused to leave his place, claiming to feel fine and insisting they should look after other, more severely injured warriors first. Elladan, who had been shocked when he saw what state the Lórien Elf was in, had decided not to start an argument with him, but simply picked him up, carrying him to his own tent. The fact that Orophin didn't have enough strength left to fight Elladan off was more frightening than anything else. He gently laid the heavily coughing archer down on his bedroll, then he started to peel him out of his sodden clothes, noticing the wound on his arm. Orophin weakly protested, but Elladan would have none of it.

When Elladan opened the lacing of the breeches, Orophin tried to push his hands away. Elladan gently stroked his face. "Do not worry, beloved. I mean no harm. But you must get warm."

Orophin finally ceased his struggle, and Elladan slipped the garment down his legs. Considering that this was the first time he had seen his beloved naked, this might have been an awkward situation, but now, Elladan was the healer, and Orophin the patient. He checked for bruises and injuries, but the wound on his arm, the awful cough and the rattling of the lungs aside, Orophin seemed to be unharmed.

When Elladan examined him, he noticed a strange mark on his hip - at first, he thought it to be a scar, but when he looked closer, he saw that it was a burn, in shape of an eagle. How odd, Elladan thought, why would Orophin have the picture of an Eagle burnt into his skin? It looked very old, very faded, but still, he could recognize the picture.

But for now, this was not important. Elladan rubbed Orophin's clammy skin off with a towel, bandaged his arm and draped a warm blanket over him. Elladan rested Orophin's head in his lap, stroking his hair and holding out the mug.

"Drink this, Orophin - it will help you."

Orophin obeyed, and sipped the bitter liquid slowly, interrupted by heavy coughing. When the mug was empty, he leant back, exhausted, and closed his eyes. How wonderful it felt, despite the pain in his chest, to be held by Elladan again. He had feared he would never see the young one again, and now he had come, here, to Tíngel Forest.

"You wear different coloured clasps again," Orophin said, smiling weakly, and Elladan blushed.

"I am glad you are here," Orophin simply said, and reached up to cup Elladan's face. The young Elf leant into his touch, and the Galadhrim stroked his face gently.

"I was worried I would not see you again before..."

He broke off, interrupted by a heavy bout of coughing.

"Before what, beloved?"

"Before I have to leave," Orophin said.

"Leave where?" Elladan asked, confused.

There he was again, the Dark Elf. He lay beside Orophin, stretched out quite comfortably, head propped up on his elbow, and beckoned Orophin, wriggling his index finger.

"Elladan... I have to go. Mandos is calling me, for many hours already, but I refused to follow, for I have been waiting for you. Now I must obey."

Elladan stared down at the Galadhrim in panic.

"Do not say such things, Orophin! You are not going to die - you are an Elf, Elves do not die! I am here, and ada is here, and he will get you back on your feet in no time, you will see!"

Orophin weakly shook his head. So did the Dark Elf.

"Much as I would wish this to be true, this is not what is going to happen. But my heart is light as you are here with me, now. And you are unharmed, that is all I need to know."

Elladan gave up fighting the tears that were welling in his eyes. He stroked Orophin's face, but as much as he wished to dismiss his beloved's words as the delirious thoughts of one who was ill, one look into the dull, glazed eyes of Orophin told him that the archer was speaking the truth.

The door of the tent flapped open; Haldir and Rúmil came to see how their brother fared. When they saw Elladan crying, and noticed the expression in Orophin's eyes, they felt like somebody had given them a deadly blow with a blade. The brothers knelt down on the other side of Orophin, Haldir taking his hand, Rúmil resting his hands on his thigh.

They all sat for a long while, the only sound to be heard was Elladan's occasional sob and Orophin's rattling breathing. Then, suddenly, the second sound stopped, and Elladan, who still held Orophin's hand, squeezed it, again and again, but there came no reaction. Haldir bowed his head, and murmured the ancient blessings one said on such an occasion. Rúmil hit his fist repeatedly into the ground, tears of anger and grief wetting his face, and Elladan, who still didn't fully understand what was happening, stared down at the now very peaceful face of his beloved.

"It is always sad to witness such a scene," the Dark Elf said to Orophin, "but eventually, they always get over it. Now come, I have dwelled here long enough."

Orophin felt oddly light, as if he had drunk too much wine, and he followed the Dark Elf out of the tent.

"Do you play the cards or throw the dice, Elf?" the Dark Elf asked, and Orophin shook his head.

"What a pity," he sighed, "since Glorfindel of the Golden Flower has left us, I have no one left to share my passion. Ah well - I should not complain. Harvest was good today," he added, and gestured to a large group of Elves who stood by a tree, all with the same dreamy expression as Orophin's on their faces. The Dark Elf led the way, and they followed him, disappearing into the mist.

Down in yonder green field,  
Down, a down, hey down, hey down,  
There lies an Elf slain 'neath his shield,  
With a down.  
With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"The Three Ravens" can be found in Thomas Ravenscroft's "Melismata", published in 1616. I used the "modernized" version for reasons of easier understanding and changed a few words to "elfisize" the text. Some believe that the text goes back to the belief that the spirit of a beloved one who has died can return as an animal - here, the doe - others support the theory that the doe here is an Elf, who returns to her slain lover in form of an animal._
> 
> _The Dark Elf here in this story (Mandos) is the Middle Earth equivalent to The Grim Reaper, hence the "harvest" reference._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long, dark year of mourning - then somebody decides it is time to pay Rivendell a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Spring had come, finally. Flowers shyly peeked out of the ground, the birds returned and Lothlórien paraded in a new green robe. The Golden Wood looked like a painting not yet finished, with naked trees among green ones, but Galadriel was confident her realm would recover, eventually. She enjoyed greatly the feeling of the fresh, young green grass under her feet, and for the first time in many years, there was peace in her heart.

She made her way to the place her mirror used to be, as she did most days, and contemplated her past. First she had thought her heart would stop beating when Rúmil had destroyed the mirror, but soon enough she realized that he had done her a favour. Galadriel felt deeply ashamed and guilty for her actions, blaming herself for not seeing through the treachery of the mirror.

Most of her people didn't hold her actions against her, for she had always been a mild and benevolent ruler, but there were many who had left the Golden Wood and sailed west, which pained Galadriel greatly, for she would have given her life if this had brought the fallen Galadhrim back. Oddly enough, the one she had thought would hate her the most was the one to stand by her.

When Rúmil returned to Lothlórien to bring the tidings of his brother's death, Galadriel expected him to hate her, and in the beginning, that had appeared to be true. Rúmil even made plans to sail West, too, but as months passed and he began to come to terms with his grief, he decided that the one who should really be held responsible for the death of Orophin and all the other Galadhrim was the one who had poisoned the mirror with the cursed ring. Elves, Ishtari, Dwarves and Men had tried to figure out the puzzle, but no reference could be found in any book to another Ring of Power, it was as if it didn't exist, and yet it did. Who had forged it? Who owned it? And who could profit from this irresponsible act?

Rúmil, ever the pragmatic, had ordered from the most skilled Dwarf masters a box made of stone. He picked up the ring with the point of his sword and placed it in there, finally sealing everything with mithril.

"We cannot keep the ring here, my lady," he had explained, "the Golden Wood is weak, and you are only just beginning to recover from the darkness; with Lord Celeborn's departure, half of Lothlórien's power has gone, and we cannot risk falling under the spell of this cursed thing again."

She had listened, and not commented on the fact that Rúmil still called Celeborn his lord – something he did all the time, stubbornly, looking at her challengingly. The more she got to know him, the more she saw how very much he was of Celeborn's blood. Amazing – all these millennia, Celeborn had a son, living right under his nose, and he hadn't known. Not that she had known, either, but then all through her life she had made a point of ignoring her husband's extra matrimonial activities.

Rúmil had brought the ring to Rivendell, escorted by a troop of Galadhrim, and there it still was, under heavy guard, in a secret room deep down under the Last Homely House, a place only known only to a few chosen ones. The only key was guarded by Lord Elrond himself, and until the time came that this riddle was solved, nobody would be allowed near the dark jewel.

While Galadriel stood in the clearing, lost in thought, something dropped on her head. She reached up, and held a sweet-smelling white flower in her hand. She sniffed it, and smiled; rolling the stem between her fingers.

Another flower fell from the sky, this one caressing her cheek as it softly fell to the ground. Galadriel was showered with flowers, hundreds of the beautiful, fragile blooms rained from the sky, and in no time, she stood ankle-deep in a sea of beauty.

When she looked up, she saw Rúmil lying stretched out on a branch above her, holding an empty basket in his hands and grinning.

"I bid you a good day, my lady. I hope you will excuse the momentary shower, perfect weather will resume shortly. "

With that, he dropped the last flower down from the tree, and Galadriel caught it, waving up to the Galadhrim, who looked rather smug.

"This was lovely, thank you!" she said, and Rúmil winked.

"Not lovelier than you, my lady,." he replied, then he dropped down from the branch, landing elegantly in front of her and bowing in silly exaggeration of a noble's greeting.

"May I be so daring as to ask my lady to bestow upon me the great honour of leading her back to the Royal Talan?"

Galadriel curtsied, pretended to think for a moment, then she nodded.

"I think I can agree to that, young Master Elf, but only if you promise not to make a spectacle of me again by carrying me through the Great Hall thrown over your shoulder."

"I promise, though with regret - it sure gave your court something to talk about," Rúmil grinned, then he offered her his arm, and the two walked back to the Talan.

For a while, they chattered happily, then Rúmil became serious again.

"I came to say good-bye, my lady. 't is well after the 2nd anniversary of my brother's passing, and I will meet with Haldir in Rivendell, to honour his memory by his grave. I shall not be gone for long. Is there any message I shall take with me?"

Galadriel gently stroked his face.

"Give all my love to Elrond and my grandchildren, especially Elladan, for I know that he still suffers greatly."

"This I will do, my lady. And how about Lord Celeborn? Shall I tell him again that you will await him with drawn sword if he should dare to cross the border, willing to have his head served on a plate, decorated with parsley and chopped onions?"

Galadriel thought about it for a moment, then she shook her head.

"No. No. This is too harsh, and I spoke those words in a moment of childish anger. Tell him instead that I will release the hounds."

Rúmil laughed.

"My lady – how many years more do you intend to keep him dangling like this?"

Galadriel shrugged.

"We are slowly rebuilding our friendship, Rúmil. To rebuild our marriage will take much more time. You cannot fix what got broken over centuries. Neither he nor I are ready for this step yet."

"I see. Maybe you should take yourself a skilled young lover for the time being then. Lonely hearts get cold at night."

She stopped, and saw the serious question behind the teasing.

Sighing, she stroked his cheek.

"This, dear Rúmil, would be highly inappropriate."

"Agreed. But it would also be a lot of fun."

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Finally, Rúmil sighed: "My lady, I also see another serious problem."

"Which would be?"

"You do not have any hounds."

 

* * *

It had become a ritual for Elladan. Every evening at sunset, he would walk down the small path behind the house which led into a small wood, not more than a handful of beeches, and sit for an hour in front of the small memorial he had set up for Orophin. It was only a short distance from the place where the funeral pyre had been - a pyre worthy of a king. Elladan had collected the wood himself, together with Rúmil and Haldir, and he had been the one to light the pyre.

It had burned for almost an entire day, and when it was over, nothing was left of his beloved but ash. They had covered the place with soil, and Elladan had planted a young beech there, to symbolize the cycle of life. His father had spoken to him; gentle words, wise words, words intended to ease his pain, but to no avail. Every day, he hoped to wake up to find his pain lessened, but instead, it got stronger. There was no escape - every place, every thing in Imladris reminded him of his lost beloved.

Sometimes, he woke up at night, sitting up drenched in sweat, thinking he had heard Orophin's odd, rusty laughter, or he dreamt that he ran into the woods, thinking he had seen silver blond hair shining in the sun, only to find Haldir or Rúmil, and then he cried, chiding himself that things would get better, but they didn't. Not for Elladan.

He lived in a world of grey, for life had lost its colours. He couldn't enjoy the beauty of the early spring flowers anymore, for Orophin would never see them. He could not enjoy Lindir’s sweet songs, for Orophin was not there to share his delight. Every so often, he caught himself directing his steps towards Orophin's chamber, to tell him about this or that, only to stop dead in his tracks when he remembered that the chamber was empty, that Orophin was no more.

Was this all there was to life? Would he have to live for the next millennia now with this horrible pain? He could not bear it, and he knew it. He, Rúmil and Haldir had become a unity, sworn to each other in shared pain over the loss of their loved one, and if it hadn't been for Orophin's brothers, Elladan would most probably have given up.

"Elladan?"

The young Elf looked up when he heard Erestor's soft voice, and looked up to face him.

"Elladan, I am most sorry to disturb you in this hour of solitude, but here is somebody to see you."

Elladan got up, and saw the Galadhrim who stood behind the advisor. He wore the colours of Lothlórien, and from his braids, he could tell that the stranger had a high rank among his people.

"My lord – my name is Turmíl. I served with Orophin in the Battle of Tíngel."

He stepped forward, and bowed. Elladan mirrored the motion, then he nodded at Erestor, who turned and left the two alone, followed by Glorfunkle, who soon caught up with him, landing on his shoulder.

"You were his captain," Elladan stated, and the other nodded.

"That I was, my lord – but I was also his friend. I hope you can forgive me my intrusion, but I and my kin will sail west soon. He was my friend, and I owe him my life, so I wanted to honour his memory before I leave."

There it was again, the bitter lump in his throat, but Elladan swallowed it down.

"There is no need to apologize, Master Turmíl. It is good to see he is missed by so many."

Elladan knelt down beside the memorial and brushed off some dry leaves, then he polished Tirith, Orophin's blade, which was set into the stone, with his sleeve.

"I am sorry I never saw him wield this blade. It is a wonderful weapon, worthy of its master."

Turmíl nodded.

"This is true. He was a great, fearless warrior, and he has fought bravely."

Elladan could not help it; certainly it was unworthy for the Heir of Imladris to cry in front of a stranger, but there was nothing he could do.

"One day one must run out of tears, or not? Life does go on, or so everybody tells me, but it is not the same life that I had before. It is a lesser life. It is an existence."

Turmíl rested his hand on the young Elf's shoulder.

"My lord – you will do him the greatest honour if you enjoy life again. Laugh, love – your beloved would have wanted you to be happy, not to fade away from grief."

Elladan didn't say anything to this, and for a long while, the two Elves just stood in front of the memorial without speaking, each lost in his own thoughts.

"I must leave now, my lord – I thank you for allowing me to bid my farewells and my respect."

"There is nothing to thank me for, Master Turmíl. I wish you a safe journey, and may the Valar look after you and your family."

Both Elves bowed, and Turmíl followed the small path back to the house.

Elladan sighed, then he, too, returned to the Last Homely House, preparing for another night full of nightmares.

* * *

The spring days were warm, but still, the night air was chilly, so Elrond sat in his favourite chair, holding a glass of Miruvor and staring into the fire. He had been mourning Orophin, of course he had, but even more so, grieved over his son's pain. Elladan was walking through the Last Homely House like a shadow, and nothing Elrond or anybody else said could drag the young one out of his pain. He was deeply worried that his son might fade. Elrond chided himself for underestimating the love between Elladan and Orophin, he had not taken it seriously, or not seriously enough, and had brushed it aside as a fancy. Only when he had seen his grief stricken son clawing at Orophin's body, cursing the Valar and begging Mandos to call him, too, had Elrond realized how very deep Elladan's feelings were.

He sighed. Maybe he was not as good a father to Elladan as he had thought. Even now, he couldn't do anything for Elladan, who mourned in silence and refused to talk to him about the things that had happened. He would not even talk to Elrohir.

"Do you find it hard to sleep, mellon?" a soft voice behind him asked.

"Celeborn - no, sleep fails me tonight."

He gestured to the chair next to his, and Celeborn settled down.

For a while, both Elven lords watched the play of the flames, until Elrond broke the silence.

"I am deeply worried about Elladan. Grief is eating him up, and I do not seem to be able to reach him. I am afraid I have failed as a father - I should have noticed earlier how close to his heart Orophin had grown."

Celeborn turned his own glass in his hands.

"Do not blame yourself, Elrond. Some things... they just happen, without anybody's doing. We all failed - I should never have allowed the situation in Tíngel Forest to escalate the way it did, Galadriel should not have sent him there in the first place and - ai, Elrond, there are so many 'if’s', but does it help us? I doubt it."

Elrond shrugged.

"Orophin served my family for many years," he finally said, staring into the fire. "He saved the lives of my children, he guarded them well - to the end. But still, I did not know him. He always kept to himself, he never talked about his family. But he won my son's love."

Celeborn, despite his pain, smiled.

"Oh, he was a wild child, Elrond. Now that he is dead, I can tell you, for while he yet lived, I was sworn to secrecy. I actually got him out of prison and brought him to the Golden Wood."

Elrond cocked an eyebrow.

"Prison? How does an Elf end up in a prison?"

"I doubt he was an Elf back then. He was stolen as a child, and sold into slavery. The first 70 or 80 years of his life, he spent as a slave in a blacksmith's workshop."

"A slave? Who would dare to take an Elf as a slave?" Elrond cried out angered by the mere thought.

Celeborn took another sip of the sweet and potent wine.

"The ways of the mortals are different from ours, mellon-nîn."

"And, pray tell, Celeborn - why was he in prison?"

Celeborn laughed silently, thinking back of the dirty, skinny Elfling he had found in that dungeon.

"He was a thief. And he injured two guards who caught him, or so I was told."

"A thief? Orophin?"

"Aye, a thief. A profession he did not give up lightly, I assure you. Amrun and Mya had a hard time teaching him some manners. Once, he even stole my horse - at least he tried to, but the beast threw him off, of course."

Elrond shook his head.

"So my son was in love with a former slave and horse thief?"

Celeborn nodded.

"Does it matter, Elrond? Could Elladan have made a better choice?"

Elrond thought about it, then he shook his head.

"No. I do not think so."

"Then we agree."

The lords sat together in silence again, until Celeborn noticed Elrond was staring at the life-sized painting of Celebrian which hung over the fireplace.

"She was a wonderful daughter, and I think she would be very proud of her husband and her sons." Celeborn finally said, looking at Elrond, who whirled the wine in his glass.

"Yes, she was a star among our people. And yet, she could swear like a Gondorian soldier!" he continued, glancing at Elrond, who had to smile, despite his worries.

"Oh yes, indeed she could! She had a fiery temper, and she knew tales that made even Glorfindel blush."

Celeborn grinned.

"Of course – she heard them all from me."

He raised his glass to the painting.

"To Celebrian, the best daughter an Elf could have, and to her quick wit."

Now Elrond lifted his glass as well.

"To Celebrian, my dearest wife, who never forced me to sleep on the sofa in all our years of marriage."

Celeborn grinned.

"To Celebrian, and her outrageous fashion sense."

Elrond rolled his eyes.

"To Celebrian, and her experimental cookery."

Celeborn turned to Elrond, a wicked glimmer in his eyes, and raised his glass to the other Elf.

"And to Celebrian - who had impeccable taste when it came to choosing a mate."

The Lord of Rivendell blushed, and cursed himself for it.

"You say that now, Celeborn," he muttered, "but I remember quite vividly one Elf who lamented and shouted, announcing he would rather marry his daughter off to a Dwarf than a peredhel, and who only turned up at the wedding because his wife gave him a sleeping draught and had him carried there."

The blond Elf waved his hand dismissively at Elrond.

"Ai, Elrond – these are old tales, almost as old as Glorfindel's Balrog-story. I have come to appreciate you over the years."

Celeborn glanced at Elrond, then he put the glass on the chair's armrest, got up and walked over to the Elven lord.

"As a matter of fact, dear Elrond, I have come to appreciate you very much over the years."

With that, he bowed down to Elrond, who stared at him like a rabbit facing a snake, and gently kissed him.

Before Elrond could say or do anything, a deafening noise made the books jump in their shelves, and both Elven lords looked up, startled.

The portrait of Gil-galad had fallen off the wall.

* * *

"Amaris! Have you seen this?" the warrior howled, gesturing at the palantir.

"Indeed Sire," replied the Elf with the golden hair who sat opposite him, concentrating on a game of chess, "you just lost your queen."

"That is not what I was talking about!"

"That might very well be, Sire, but you still lost the game. Check."

"The game, the game - Celeborn is after Elrond!"

"Yes, Sire. Most inconvenient. And mate."

"Inconvenient? That is the understatement of the age! This is an outrageous insult! An intolerable act of provocation!"

"Yes, Sire. I fully agree."

"So, what are we going to do about it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You do NOT expect me to sit here and scratch my backside while that Lothlórien trollop tries to weasel his way into Elrond's bedchamber, now do you!"

"No, Sire. Of course not. This would, in any case, be a most unsuitable alliance."

"Most unsuitable."

"However, I would recommend that you do not react too impulsively, Sire."

"Who - me? Have I ever been impulsive, Amaris?"

"No, Sire. Not within the last ten seconds."

"Are you being ironic now?"

"Possibly."

"One of these days, Amaris, I shall find myself another advisor."

"Feel free to release me from your services, Sire."

"The Mordor I will. I am used to you. This aside, it annoys Oropher."

"You are too kind, Sire."

"I know. However, I wish to let you know that I have decided it is time to leave this homely place."

"Sire – with all due respect, we cannot leave."

"And why not?"

"First because we are not allowed to and second because we are dead."

"This is an impediment, but no reason."

"As you say, Sire. But you are aware that your fëa will be reborn as a dung beetle if Mandos should find out."

"Dung beetles are highly intelligent animals, dear Amaris. We will leave this afternoon, when he is busy registering the new arrivals."

"But Sire - you cannot just step through the gate without permission - it is against all rules!"

"Rules are there to be ignored. But if you are afraid, you are most welcome to stay here."

"I am not afraid. I merely regard it as my duty to inform you of the risks. I am your advisor."

"I know, I know. So, are you joining me or staying behind?"

"My place is by your side, my liege. This aside, my sympathies for Lord Celeborn have always been mild at best."

"So we have an agreement then?"

"Indeed, Sire."

"Good. And - Amaris?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"I think this here would be a nice souvenir to take along from the Halls of Mandos."

"That? Are you sure?"

"Would I have suggested it otherwise?"

"Yes."

"Note my words, Amaris: when you turn up for festivities uninvited, you will be more welcome if you bring a present."

"In any case this is better than this tasteless statue you gave King Oropher for his begetting day, Sire. The one with the naked nymphs."

"I like naked nymphs."

"You like anything naked. You were the reasons we started to wear clothes in the first place. Before you came to our realm, we were a happy bunch of frolicking, naked Woodland Elves."

"One day, you will be my death, Amaris."

"May I remind you, Sire, that you have already been mine?"

"Very funny, Amaris."

"Mirkwood humour, Sire. We are a merry lot."

* * *

"My dear Glorfindel, you look very tired", Elrond remarked when he sat down beside the warrior in the grass. The warrior had circles under his eyes that would have done a Shire-raccoon honour.

"Tired? I am not tired. I am exhausted. Worn out. Wrung dry." Glorfindel moaned, and flopped back on the blanket he had spread out in the grass.

Alarmed, Elrond checked his friend's face for signs of illness.

"Are you ill? Is there something I can do?"

Glorfindel chuckled.

"Yes, there is. Can Erestor sleep in your chamber for two weeks?"

Elrond's eyebrows marched towards his hairline upon hearing this outrageous demand.

"Are you running a fever?"

"Me? No. If anybody runs a fever, then it is Erestor. It is the same fever he ran last year, but this year he runs a temperature which threatens to burn me."

"Oh." Elrond said, which was not much, but covered all there was to say. "It is that time of the year again."

"Yes," Glorfindel sighed, "it is that time of the year. Mind you, not that I would complain – Erestor is the fairest being I ever knew, but… Estorel!! Stop chasing that butterfly!"

The Elfling, who had crawled for at least ten minutes in the grass, heading for a butterfly in a hopeless attempt to catch the fragile being, stopped, alas too quickly, doubled over and landed flat on his nose. The following dramatic howl had the quality of a Ring Wraith's cry, and both Elves covered their ears.

"Estorel, stop it already!"

Glorfindel got up, and walked swiftly over to his son, picking the child up. Estorel looked definitely sulky.

"He almost had him," Bramble said, and stared accusingly at Glorfindel.

"You two are not supposed to catch butterflies, darling. Would you not rather have them flying to brighten up your day? They cannot do so if you hunt them."

"But Sia said it is good to start with butterflies."

"Oh yes, and here we go again", Fin sighed, finding the ever-present Rabbit-hero-worship among Rivendell's youth increasingly tiring. "And if Sia tells you to jump off a bridge you would do it, too?"

Bramble looked at Fin, then she seriously said: "Yes."

Elrond laughed.

"I cannot wait till Estorel comes of age, I predict years and years of boundless delight and torture!"

Fin produced a grimace faintly looking like a smile.

"Have you seen Erestor?" he asked the girl, and she pointed in the direction of the cave she lived in with her parents, Haldir and Rabbit.

"He talks to Sia. "

"And what is it they talk about?" Fin asked.

Bramble frowned, then she tried hard to remember what the odd subject of the discussion had been.

"Erestor is on heat."

Elrond howled with laughter, literally rolling in the grass, which earned him an evil glare from Glorfindel.

"This is so not funny, Elrond. You have no idea what - demands I have to fill. From dusk till dawn... ai, you have no idea." Glorfindel groaned, shaking his head.

"Now look, dear friend – why do you not simply give in and have another child? You could sleep again at night, and the sofa in the library would not become more worn out than it already is."

"Elrond!" Fin protested, "not in front of the child! And this aside, we have never done it on the sofa."

"Oh – you have not? But Melpomaen said…"

"Melpomaen can call himself lucky if he manages to tell his backside from his elbow, my lord. I know with absolute certainty that we have never done anything on the sofa in the library."

"No?"

"No. We used your desk."

* * *

The Elves were riding through the streets of Rivendell. The blacksmith, who had stepped out of his workshop for a short break and a breath of fresh air, saw that they must have come a very long way, for they were covered in the dust of the road. Their faces were half covered by the hoods of their cloaks which protected them against the light spring rain. He had never seen them before, so he reckoned that they must have come from another realm - Woodland Elves, maybe.

The horses halted in front of him, and a tall, impressive Elf with blue eyes bowed respectfully in front of the blacksmith.

"Mae govannen, Master Blacksmith, how delightful to meet a friendly face on this wonderful mild spring evening. Pray tell, could you lead us the way to the Last Homely House? As much as I appreciate sunshine in its liquid form, I would not mind getting into the warmth and dry."

The blacksmith answered the greeting, then he scratched his neck.

"Are you coming to see Lord Elrond? 't is a bad time, my friends - the House of Elrond is in mourning. Do you bring bad tidings for our dear lord?"

"On the contrary, my friend, on the contrary. We bring very good tidings," the Elf answered, while the one with the golden hair riding to his right snorted.

"Good tidings are surely most welcome and needed in these dark days," the blacksmith sighed, thinking of the young lord's sad eyes. "Just ride up this street, there is an aromatherapy shop on the right, and directly opposite, you will find the Last Homely House."

"I thank you, my friend", the Elf said, then they directed their horses up the street.

Before they entered the courtyard, the tall Elf halted his horse.

""Nice place Elrond has set up here, Amaris."

The blond tried to brush off some of the travel dust from his cloak, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a muddy puddle on the way.

"Aye, Sire. Charming little realm.

"Please do not get overly enthusiastic."

Another snort from under the hood, and more frantic brushing.

By now, two guardians had emerged from the depths of the bushes, bows lowered, but still alert.

"Be welcome to Imladris, friends. Tell us your names, and what it is you desire."

The tall Elf bowed his head.

"Mae govannen, my friends. I am a weary traveller from a far-away land, and I bring tidings for Lord Elrond who, so I was told, resides within these walls."

The guardian looked him over, saw that he didn't carry any weapons and found him to be harmless.

"You can leave your horses here, the stable grooms will take care of them."

The travellers got off their horses, and quickly, a servant came to take the reins of their mounts, leading them away. In the meantime, one of the guardians went inside to announce the visitors, and soon after, Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir turned up to bid them welcome as was proper, curious to learn who these unannounced visitors might be.

They walked slowly towards the stairs leading to the entrance. At first, Elrond couldn't see their faces, as they were too far away.

"I wonder what tidings they may bring, my lord," Erestor said, and squeezed his eyes to see better.

"Me too," Elrond answered, and he shaded his eyes, for right this moment, the sun broke her way through the clouds again.

Now they were within sight, and Elrond shook his head. What foul trick did the light play here?

The tall Elf pushed his hood back, and a mass of dark hair fell down over his shoulders, the sunlight accentuating a slight tint of red in the dark tresses.

Elrond stared. He just stood there and stared, mouth half open, face drained of all colour. Not a word left his lips.

"Ada, what is wrong? Ada?" Elladan asked, tugging on Elrond's sleeve, worried about his father's odd behaviour, but Elrond didn't react, he just continued staring.

"Rather enthusiastic welcome, now is it not, Amaris," the dark haired Elf said, turning to his companion.

"Indeed, Sire. It is bordering upon hysteria," came the dry reply from the Elf to his left, who had pushed his hood back, too, and showed a mass of golden hair. He still fiddled with his sleeve and muttered some decidedly unfriendly words.

There was a third Elf, still hidden by the hood, who did not come closer, but swayed, as if he was not sure on his feet. Elladan, though still worried about his father, looked at him with the eyes of a healer.

"Is your friend ill? Shall I care for him?" he asked, without taking his eyes from the still figure.

The dark elf rubbed his chin.

"Oh, penneth, this seems to be a most excellent idea, do you not agree, Amaris?"

"Splendid idea, Sire. I would even go as far as saying: brilliant."

Elladan stepped down the stairs, and he passed the tall Elf, who was walking towards Elrond. Once he stood in front of the Lord of Imladris, he gave him a blinding smile.

"Still easily distracted, now are you not, my dear. Ah well. I just take it you are happy to see me again."

With that, he took Elrond's face between his hands, and pressed a wet, firm and loud kiss on his lips.

Elrond blinked.

"Ereinion..." he stuttered, not able to believe what he was seeing.

"Gil-galad?!?" Erestor, Glorfindel and Elrohir called out in chorus.

"These Elves have a very quick way of thinking, dear Amaris."

"Indeed. Remarkable, Sire," the golden-haired Elf answered, now dusting his coat off.

Elladan had not really taken notice of the commotion behind him; there was a patient, and he was grateful for anything that would take his mind off his pain, even if only for a short time.

"I am Elladan, the son of Elrond," he said, approaching the still figure, "I am a healer, so if you are injured, I will try to help you."

The Elf shook his head once, then again, as if to get rid of a strange noise in his ears, or perhaps in disbelief. Finally, he reached up to the hood of his cloak, and slowly let it slip from his face.

Elladan hid his face behind his hands. What a cruel trick of nature! For a moment, he had thought...

Gentle hands reached for his, pulling them away from his face, and he looked into a pair of eyes he had thought never to see again.

"Elladan - I have missed you so very, very much," the Elf said, his voice trembling. A second later, Elladan felt how strong arms embraced him, and only now did he believe what was happening here. He didn't ask any questions, he just buried his face in the mass of silver blond hair, and all the tears held back these long, long months were flowing now, soaking the cloak of the other, while gentle hands stroked his hair.

"Orophin," he whispered, "dear, dear Orophin."

Behind him, he heard the amused voice of the tall Elf.

"Good to see you appreciate our souvenir from Mandos. Now Elladan - if you are finished with the welcome-back ceremony, you might wish to care for your father. I am afraid he has fainted".


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is the miracle a curse or a blessing? Elrond is not quite sure. And Celeborn once again plays the cards in everybody's favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

It was in situations like this that Erestor's greatest virtue came to bear - the ability to stay calm no matter what happened. Three Elves returned from the Halls of Waiting? Unusual, of course, but no reason to get upset. He called for Terin, the healer, and made sure Elrond was brought to his rooms and taken care off - seeing Gil-galad returned from the dead had been an immense shock for the Half-elf, and Erestor didn't want to take any risks, so he had everybody banned from Elrond's chambers.

When this was done, he returned to the Great Hall, where the three fugitives were still standing. Nobody really dared to approach them, save Elladan, who just stood, staring, in front of Orophin, while Orophin gazed back at him, and Erestor considered them both lost to the world for the time being. He clapped his hands, and addressed all present.

"My lords and ladies – a moment of your full attention, please. We all were witnesses of a miracle today. But Lord Elrond would certainly not wish to see half of Arda turning up on our doorstep, so I swear you all to silence for the time being – and this is not a request. Melpomaen, I hope you have heard what I said. Anybody breaking this secrecy will be punished, and I shall oversee said punishment personally."

Melpomaen, who had already tried to sneak out of the door to herald the fantastic news all over the place, stopped dead in his tracks. He had no idea what kind of punishment Erestor had in mind, but from the expression in the dark Elf's eyes he could tell that comfy chairs or fluffy pillows would not be involved, so he nodded enthusiastically, and said meekly: "Yes, Master Erestor, of course. I fully understand."

"Good. I am most pleased to hear this. Elladan, Elrohir, please stay here; you too, Fin, and everybody else, please withdraw to your chambers, and speak to no-one about the things which have happened here. My lord Celeborn - I would respectfully ask you to get Haldir and Rabbit, and I am positive that you will show more common sense and tact when breaking this news to Orophin's brother than others I could mention here."

He glared at Gil-galad in a way that would have turned a Balrog to stone, and the former king visibly shrunk. 'By all Valar but Mandos - Elrond sure got himself a warg of an advisor here. What does he feed him for luncheon - raw meat?' he thought, and Erestor cocked an eyebrow.

"Mauburz - please return to the shop and make sure Lady Firinwë does not leave the house. She need not know what has happened here."

The large Orc nodded, and rubbed her paws gleefully.

"Is good. If not obeys, Mauburz will gag and bind stoopid Elf lady."

"No, Mauburz - no gagging and no binding." Erestor said, sounding regretful.

Mauburz was disappointed.

"Pity. Nobody ever wants Mauburz to have fun. Good then, no gagging and no binding, will just lock her up in the cellar. Can play with rats. Same family."

With that, she trotted out of the door, and the Elves present obeyed Erestor's command as well and retreated to their rooms. However, Erestor did not give in to the illusion that this incident wouldn't be the talk of Arda within a day. When everybody had left, he approached Orophin, gently stroking his cheek.

"My heart sings in delight for seeing you again, dear friend. You have been greatly missed."

Orophin didn't answer, he simply smiled, with that odd, dreamy expression on his face, and so Erestor turned to the blond Elf who was by now sitting on the table, trying to see his reflection in a silver fruit bowl.

"I know Orophin and the king, Master Elf, but may I ask for your name as I have not seen you before?"

The other stopped his inspection, and looked up.

"I am Amaris of Mirkwood."

Glorfindel, who had so far watched everything without saying a word, approached the Elf sitting on the table, who was now polishing the bowl with his sleeve.

"I know you - I have seen you before. Were you present at The Great Battle?"

Amaris looked up at Fin.

"Indeed, I was. It was there that I died."

"So you were slain by the evil forces as well."

Amaris thought about it for a moment, then he shook his head.

"That is not quite correct, no. As a matter of fact, I was tending to my horse when this king here", he gestured with his thumb at Gil-galad, "did his impressive stunt as The Amazing Royal Elven Comet, and of all the places to crash, he had to choose the spot where I stood. It was quite a quick death, if also somewhat messy. At least the horse escaped unharmed."

Gil-galad groaned.

"And here we go again... how often have you told this story now, Amaris?"

"Oh, let me see... I think this was the 19876th retelling, but I could be wrong there, it might even be the 19877th, Sire."

Erestor, who was reminded on his own bantering with Glorfindel in the days before their courtship, knew well that this could go on for hours, so he decided to nip any further war reminiscences in the bud.

"You are all tired, and you must be hungry. Let us sit down and eat something while the servants prepare your chambers. I must look after Lord Elrond later, and I suggest we discuss everything tomorrow."

* * *

Celeborn met Haldir and Rabbit halfway down to their cave, and from the way Haldir looked he could tell that the Elf already knew. Never before had Celeborn seen the former captain of his personal guard in such a state. His face was ashen, his hair hung loose around his face, and judging by the red-rimmed eyed, he must have cried. Haldir was unsteady on his feet, and Rabbit supported him.

"My lord - is it true?" Haldir called, trying to get to Celeborn as quick as possible.

Celeborn smiled, and folded the distraught Elf in a close embrace, all the time eyeing Rabbit to make sure the Plains Elf had no intention of biting off his hand or re-arranging his limbs. But Rabbit seemed not to plan any of this, he simply watched Haldir carefully, and for the first time, Celeborn saw the great love shining in those strange, yellow eyes.

Haldir could not hold back any longer, and wept, his face buried in Celeborn's shoulder. His lord rubbed his back, talking in soft words to sooth him.

"I knew he came back, he and two others. His scent was strong." Rabbit said, and Celeborn nodded. "Yes - Orophin is back, Haldir, and he is not alone. He brought Gil-galad with him and a Mirkwood Elf - no, that is not quite correct, I think it was more that Gil-galad brought him along."

Haldir stepped back from Celeborn, and wiped his face with his sleeve.

"I am sorry, my lord. It was just... when I heard..."

He broke off, and Rabbit hugged him.

"You should go and see him, Haldir - just... he does not seem to fully understand yet that he is home. Do not ask him questions, just be there for him."

Haldir nodded, and then he and Rabbit walked towards the Last Homely House, while Celeborn headed for the woods.

There was somebody else who needed to know what had happened today.

* * *

It was unheard of for the lady Galadriel to run. Usually, she walked, majestically, with dignity and the speed of an arthritic turtle.

Today, however, Galadriel was running. Barefoot, gown and hair flying. Her astonished people saw the lady of the Golden Wood speeding down the main road of Calas Garadhon, which, in itself, was remarkable enough, but when one guard reported that he had seen her actually climbing a tree, and more precisely, the one Rúmil had his Talan on, the Elves of Lothlórien began to wonder if some strange illness had befallen their lady.

Rúmil, who had just been stringing a bow, had to check twice when he saw Galadriel's head peek over the border of the fleet. The rest of her followed soon, and she dropped rather inelegantly on the smooth wooden floor, panting heavily – it had been millennia since she last climbed a tree, so she was a little bit out of practice.

Rúmil dropped the bow and jumped up, quickly crossing the room to help her.

"My lady!" he said, and shook his head.

"What are you doing here? And why are you here? And…"

"Sshhh…" she interrupted him, "so many questions, let me answer them one by one. I have good tidings for you."

He looked at her, puzzled, and while she tried to calm her breathing, she looked around. Nobody needed to tell her that this was a bachelor's room – clothes hung over chairs, weapons decorated the walls, and a heap of dirty laundry lay piled up beside the narrow bed. Her eagle eye also spotted a collection of erotic illuminations peeking out from under the bed. Rúmil noticed that she noticed and quickly kicked the offending scrolls under the bed.

"Good tidings, Rúmil! I have to tell you something, but you must promise me to stay calm. Do not get upset, do not recommend that I see the healer, and do not doubt my words either, no matter how unbelievable the news might be."

Rúmil frowned, a little suspicious, but he nodded.

"I promise you I shall not jump of the flet", he said, crossing his arms and looking at her expectantly. This must be quite some news if she had come to tell him personally!

"I have far spoken with Celeborn. You, I and some guards will leave for Rivendell this very hour."

She took another breath, and smiled at him, taking his hands in hers.

"Rúmil – Orophin lives! He is in Rivendell - your brother has returned!"

He let go of her and took one step back, just staring, not saying a word.

"I do not know how it happened, but like Glorfindel, he has returned from Mandos' Halls!"

The archer shook his head.

"My lady... why are you playing such a cruel joke on me... how can it please you to torture me so?" he finally asked with a small voice.

Quickly she stepped to him, cupping his face.

"How could I jest about such a thing - Rúmil, it is true, Orophin is alive! You will see him a week from now!"

Her mind reached out to his, and Rúmil saw the same picture Celeborn had sent to his wife - Elladan, hugging Orophin in front of the Last Homely House.

"So it is true then..." he said, still not understanding it, but there could be no doubt that it was true.

"It is true! He is back!" he finally shouted, and in an outburst of joy, he grabbed Galadriel around her waist, lifted her up and danced with her four times around the room. Realizing a little late what he was doing, he quickly put her down again when he saw the dumbfounded expression on her face.

"I am most sorry, my lady. Please forgive me, I forgot my place." he muttered, blushing.

Galadriel, still swaying a little and feeling dizzy, didn't say anything as she was too busy trying to keep her balance. Rúmil took her arm to steady her, and being a very practical Elf, he decided that, since he was in for some trouble anyway, he might as well make the best of it, so he drew Galadriel closer and kissed her.

Galadriel had learned early on in her life that it made absolutely no sense to fight the forces of nature like fire, the four winds, water, earthquakes and Rúmils. She still thought this was highly inappropriate, but considering Rúmil's skills in the kissing department (we remember: 8 points out of 10), she had to agree with him on one point:

It was a lot of fun.

* * *

Orophin felt like he was sitting close to a beehive. The excited chatter of the Elves at the large table in the Great Hall was like the buzzing of bees to him, and even if he had tried to concentrate and tell the voices apart, he would have failed.

He didn't try, though. It was as if he had been awoken unexpectedly from deepest sleep; he found it very difficult to understand what was going on. One moment, he had been sitting in a hall by a fire, all the walls decorated with heavy tapestries, but what he had been doing, he couldn't say. Had he been sleeping? Or dreaming? Both? Then the Mirkwood Elf had come to sit by him, whispering sentences which made no sense to Orophin. Though he knew the language, the words had no meaning, at least not to him. Finally, Amaris had shaken him.

"Elladan is waiting for you," he had said. This was all Orophin understood, but it was enough. Elladan was waiting, so he would come. He couldn't let Elladan wait, though he didn't know why Elladan waited at all.

It had been ridiculously easy. There was nobody guarding The Gate - after all, no Elf had ever done what Gil-galad had in mind. There had been darkness, cold, and then they had found themselves in the middle of a forest, naked as the day they were born, and in a way, this was not so wrong - had not his second life begun that day?

Only now, sitting here, at the familiar table, did Orophin realize the enormity of what they had done: they had returned from the dead. They had defeated Mandos, left the Halls of Waiting and returned to Arda - not as souls reborn, but as their old selves.

No, this was not true, either. Orophin knew he was not the same Elf he had been before. He was more - or less. This he couldn't tell yet. He felt oddly light, and also lonely, for the Elves who were eating, drinking and celebrating the return of their lost kin were strangely unreal. And if only they would stop talking - his head would explode soon. So many words, so much noise, almost unbearable after the silence of the Halls of Waiting.

Only Elladan was not talking. He hadn't asked any questions, and he didn't eat, either. He just sat by Orophin's side, watching him. Again and again, he would reach out, and shyly stroke his hand, as if to reassure himself that Orophin was really here.

Finally, Orophin couldn't take the noise anymore. He got up, and quickly headed for the stairs. He was like a wounded animal which escapes the healer to hide under a bush and lick its wounds. For a moment, the conversation at the table came to a halt, and Elrohir looked at his brother with concern, but when Elladan got up and followed his beloved, everybody resumed their previous chatter.

"Orophin - please wait for me," Elladan called out, and immediately, the Galadhrim stopped his swift stride. Soon, Elladan was by his side, and his lover looked at him, managing a weak and not very convincing smile.

"It was - loud," he finally said, hoping that Elladan would understand, and Elladan did. Again, he briefly touched Orophin's arm; no matter how often he touched the archer, he still couldn't believe that he was really here. The hand was dirty, and also Orophin's face sported more than only one smudge - the journey to Rivendell had been hard, and in all the excitement there had been no time to get cleaned up.

"Come - I will run you a bath," Elladan finally said. He wanted to get Orophin away from all the hustle and bustle which so clearly irritated the Elf, and maybe a hot bath would help him to relax, for despite the dreamy expression on his face, Orophin was strung taut like a bow string.

The Lórien Elf nodded, and did not resist when Elladan took his hand and gently led him up the stairs to his own rooms; while Orophin might have preferred to sleep in his own bed, his room had no bathroom, but Elladan's had.

Elladan opened the door, then he guided Orophin to a chair, sitting him down.

"Just stay here. I will prepare the bath for you, do not worry," he said, gently stroking Orophin's face - the boldest gesture he had made so far - then he went to the adjoined bathroom.

Elladan had always been very proud of his bath - he had hogged the biggest one in Imladris for himself, a large basin, hewn out of a single rock, which easily held five or six people. It was not uncommon to share a bath, in fact his ada always insisted the relaxed atmosphere of the bathing house had done more for treaties of peace and trade than any of his speeches.

The basin was laid out with a mosaic - a dozen brightly coloured fishes. His mother, who had been a skilled artist, had drawn the drafts for this bath herself. Green plants were growing everywhere, and sometimes, during the day, birds flew in through the open window to rest in this oasis. Bathing oils and sponges were lined up on the sides, and the bath was sourced by one of the three hot springs in Imladris, so there was always warm water available.

While Elladan unplugged the pipe to let the water flow, he tried to sort out his thoughts and feelings. Orophin was back - he was back. Alive. He sat on Elladan's chair in Elladan's room, and soon, he would have a hopefully relaxing bath in Elladan's bathroom.

And yet, it was unreal. While the water rippled in the basin, Elladan stepped to the window. From here, he could see Orophin's memorial. The blade of Tirith reflected the moonlight, and he could even see the young beech growing on the very place he had lit the funeral pyre and seen the body of his beloved consumed by the flames.

And now Orophin was sitting in Elladan's room, very much alive - confused, it was true, but he was breathing, talking and his skin was warm.

Elladan had to sit down for a moment. He was overwhelmed - months and months he had mourned, his days had been filled with nothing but pain and sorrow, and this should all be over now? How had this been possible? How had Gil-galad managed to simply walk out of the Halls of Waiting and back into his father's life again? Elladan just couldn't come to terms with the fact that the tall, impressive Elf with the wicked smile, who had kissed the Lord of Imladris as if it was the most natural thing to do, was the last High King of the Noldo who had died, burnt to ashes by Sauron.

Ai, poor ada. Elladan's heart went out to his father who was now hopefully resting, lulled into sleep by a very powerful sleeping draught the healer had given him. How would he cope? Would he welcome Gil-galad back into his life? Into their life?

Elladan's head started to hurt, and his thoughts wandered back to the Galadhrim in the other room. Seeing that the basin was almost full, he added some relaxing bath oil, plugged the pipe closed again and went back to Orophin, who still sat on the same spot and hadn't moved an inch.

"Your bath is ready", Elladan said, and Orophin got up, walking slowly towards the bathroom. "Will you... will you need help?" the younger Elf asked, and after a moment, Orophin nodded. He watched as Orophin stripped his clothes, slowly, as if this was a task he hadn’t quite mastered yet, and Elladan noticed that Orophin, who usually was very tidy and folded his clothes, arranging them in a neat, heap, just let them drop where he stood. The body revealed underneath was different – yes, Orophin was still taller than Elladan, but much leaner, almost fragile, and Elladan also noticed another thing:

All the scars, including the strange mark on Orophin's hip, had gone.

* * *

Tarin, the healer, had shooed all present out of Elrond's room, claiming that Rivendell's Lord needed rest, not a bunch of fussing Elves, and he had been rather firm on this point. Even Gil-galad's complaint was answered with nothing but a firm "Out! Now!", so currently, there was one grumpy former king exploring the Last Homely House, Amaris in tow.

"Now look at this library, Amaris – quite impressive, is it not?"

Gil-galad marched down the many rows of shelves, picking out a book here and there, reading the titles.

"Who would have thought Elrond would become a scholar one day," he said, a doting smile on his face.

"Considering that he was learning from you how to burp the national anthem of Mirkwood the last time I saw him, it is quite amazing, I agree."

Gil-galad chose to ignore this comment, and pushed aside the heavy curtain which hid the entrance to a smaller room in the back of the library.

"Well, well, well ... now what do we have here..." Gil-galad grinned after studying the titles.

"He kept all the books of my personal library!"

Amaris, whose face clearly expressed his disbelief that the other Elf had ever possessed any book other than "Nana Goose", moved his face closer to the shelf next to him, and frowned.

"Let me see.... 'Love potions through the ages'... 'Noldorian Bondage'... 'How to increase your pen-' - now this is - no doubt, your library," Amaris snorted, and put the last book quickly back, wiping his hand in disgust on his jerkin.

Gil-galad, not offended in the least, roared with laughter.

"Ai, Amaris - do not be such a prude! I always thought you Mirkwood Elves were a merry lot! Look - read this, it is a classic, and I am sure you will learn a lot about the history of your people."

With a rather smug grin, he handed Amaris the infamous 'Mirkwood Love Secrets'.

Amaris looked at the other Elf, and shook his head.

"Sire - I doubt that I can learn anything new from this book."

Gil-galad nudged him.

"Oh, so all these millennia, I had a master in the art of love by my side and did not know it? You should have told me! Imagine the fun we could have had! My dear Amaris, I must say, you never cease to surprise me. So I take you have read this book before?"

Aramis rolled his eyes.

"No, Sire," he replied, and stifled a yawn, "as a matter of fact, I wrote it."

With that, he swept out of the room, and left a rather confused king behind.

* * *

Elladan washed Orophin's hair. This was a strange thing to do, for he had never washed anybody's hair but his own before, not even Elrohir's, who was very peculiar when it came to his mane and would not let anybody else tend to it.

But now Elladan sat behind Orophin, gently rinsing the last traces of soap from the long, silver blond hair. Orophin had his eyes closed, and while he still did not speak, he seemed to like Elladan's attention.

"Come now, beloved," Elladan finally said, "if you sit in the water for much longer, you will turn into a prune."

Orophin obeyed, standing up, and Elladan wrapped him in a large towel. When he saw that Orophin made no attempt to dry himself off, he started to rub him dry, shyly, so as not to give the impression that he had anything else in mind.

"You have been waiting for me," Orophin suddenly said; a statement, not a question, and Elladan was taken aback by it. He dropped his hands, and stared at Orophin, then he looked down at the floor of the bathroom, which showed a filigree design of white and blue flowers.

"I – I just could not believe that you were gone."

Elladan felt Orophin's questioning look, and so he faced him.

"Elladan – I fear I should not be here."

Elladan stared at Orophin, took in the beloved face, then reached out to push a wayward strand of damp hair behind an ear.

"Do you want to go back, Orophin?" he whispered, bracing himself for the answer.

Orophin thought about it for a moment.

"No, I do not want to go back. But I am not here, not really. It is like a dream – nothing is real. Not this place, not the Elves, not the food on the plate. Only you are real. Only you."

Elladan didn't fully understand what Orophin was talking about, but maybe a part of his beloved had stayed behind in the Halls of Waiting.

He felt tears sting in the back of his throat again, but he managed to keep them down. No need to cry, no need to upset Orophin.

Orophin shook his head again, just like he had done a few times already this evening, as if to clear his head of some unwelcoming noise. Without a word, he put his arms around the younger Elf, and hugged him, pressing him close to his body. Elladan shuddered, overwhelmed by the events of this day, overwhelmed by his grief and by Orophin's presence. He didn't want to cry, he really didn't, but he just couldn't help it, and feeling Orophin's hand stroking his hair was not doing much to calm him down.

"If I were to lose you again, Orophin, I would surely die. I know it, I have felt it every day this last year, and I began to hear Mandos' call. I do not know why you came back, but I will never let you go again, and if you must return, Orophin, then I will join you," he sobbed, clinging onto the other Elf for dear life.

"Shhh, penneth, do not say such things. I would not want you to join me, I would want you to live a happy life, and to love again in time. You are precious, Elladan, you are a rare gem, and I would not see you wasted on grief. Promise me not to follow me if I should return."

Elladan shook his head.

"No, I will not promise this. Never. And you will not return, either. You are here, and you will stay here, and nobody will take you away from me again."

Orophin didn't say anything, and really, there was nothing anybody could have replied to this. He hugged Elladan even closer, gently rocking him. This was real, unlike everything else that had happened to him since his departure from the Halls of Waiting. Elladan was real, and so very much alive, the way his skin felt under Orophin's hands, the scent of his hair. Real. Alive. He sought Elladan's lips, and found them, and the young Elf gave everything he was into this kiss. This was not the playful encounter of the first time they had admitted their feelings, it was also not an aggressive attack like the kiss on the day of Orophin's departure: this was something fundamental; something deep, and Elladan felt as if he had only been one of two halves all his life, and now, finally he was made whole again.

When they broke off, Orophin stroked his cheek with feather-light touches, he ran his fingertips again and again over Elladan's temple, following the two simple warrior braids behind the ear, lingering there, caressing the sensitive skin.

"Make me yours, Elladan. Make me feel alive and real again," he whispered, and Elladan started to tremble.

"I – I do not think I can do this, Orophin." he said in a very low voice, and Orophin kissed him again, this time with more passion, and Elladan was overwhelmed by emotions and sensations of an intensity he had never encountered in his life.

" Elladan – I beg you. We do not know what the next day will bring, but please, make me yours. I want to be yours, nobody else's, and no matter what happens, I will never belong to another."

"You – you would bind yourself to me?" Elladan gasped, staring at the Galadhrim in wide-eyed wonder.

"I would, if you want me." Orophin said, and Elladan saw the first genuine smile on his face this day.

There was nothing to think about or to decide, Elladan knew what he wanted and what his answer would be. Embracing closely, the two made the vows which bound their souls in a union no power could sever, and when the last ancient word was spoken, a wonderful feeling of warmth and love consumed Elladan, his worried mind became calm, and the pain in his heart disappeared.

He took a step back, and watched Orophin. The dreamy expression was gone, he looked calm, peaceful, and there was no confusion or fear anymore in his eyes, only pure, unconditional love.

Without a word, Elladan picked Orophin up, placed a reverent kiss on his forehead and carried him to his chamber.

* * *

"Sir, you really should not do this."

"I know."

"But I guess you will do it, anyway."

"Of course."

"Have you considered that you might give the poor Elf a heart attack, Sire?"

"Amaris - please. We are talking about Elrond here, not about one of your prissy Mirkwood Elves."

"We are not prissy!"

"Of course you are. You hug trees."

"What is wrong with hugging trees?"

"Everything. I suppose you also talk to flowers?"

"But certainly. There is nothing like a nice afternoon tea with lupines and daisies."

"Are you making fun of me, Amaris?"

"Me? Never."

"Now listen - you stand here, and if you hear somebody approaching Elrond's room, you whistle."

"Whistle? Like - what?"

"What like what?"

"What am I supposed to whistle?"

"A whistle, of course."

"Yes - but what - which tune."

"Tune? You are not supposed to whistle a tune - where do you think we are, at the royal Mirkwood theatre?"

"I will whistle one of my own compositions then."

"If you have to."

"Well, if you do not want to hear any of my compositions, you just have to tell me, it is not like I HAVE to whistle for you, Sire."

"Amaris - has anybody ever told you that you are the most nerve-racking Elf in all of Arda?"

"You are too generous, Sire. But in the meantime, the healer has left Lord Elrond's room, so you might wish to sneak in now."

"Ah - good. I shall go then."

"Good luck, Sire. And - Sire?"

"Yes, Amaris?"

"I cannot be the most nerve-racking Elf in all of Arda."

"And why not?"

"Because Lord Glorfindel stated that you were."

"Amaris?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Go and hug a tree."

* * *

The moment Fin's head touched the pillow, he fell asleep. He didn't even take off his clothes, or notice that Erestor had entered their chamber. The dark-haired advisor walked on tip-toes to the nursery, saw that Estorel was sleeping peacefully, and tucked the child safely in.

Their son was growing so fast - only a few months ago, he had been carrying Estorel around in a sling, and now he was already crawling all over the place, knocking over vases and chewing on scrolls, and while this was a very tiring phase for the parents, Erestor also took great delight in seeing his son's curiosity and following him on his great journey to discover the world around him.

The older Estorel got, the more character traits of Glorfindel Erestor discovered. The child might have his dark hair, but he was every bit like Fin, this was clear to see even at this early age. When he watched Fin playing with Estorel, he noticed how close the two were, and every so often, he thought back on the day of Estorel's birth, of his dream, and the bright, cheerful young Elf who had told him that he was Glorfindel's first son. Had this been a dream, induced by a memory of something Fin had said? Erestor had tried to gather some information about Fin's past in Gondolin, but to no avail - most books and reports were destroyed, and nobody Erestor knew had any knowledge of the time Fin spent in Gondolin. Sure, they knew that he was the head of the House of the Golden Flower, his extravagant dressing style and his outrageous relationship with Ecthelion had been the talk of town, still were, actually, but nobody knew anything about the time before Fin became the great hero the minstrels wrote songs about.

At times, Erestor even felt a bit jealous of the closeness between Estorel and Fin. During the pregnancy, he had felt so close to his child, his son had been a part of him, and now he dreaded the day when Estorel would start to take his first steps and walk directly over to Fin.

'Erestor, you are being foolish', he chided himself, trying to shake off this odd felling. He sat down in a chair, intending to read a little before lying down, but instead he simply watched his mate.

The love he felt for the warrior was sometimes so strong it hurt - like now. Fin had such a wonderful way with words - he could make Erestor smile with a single word, make him feel special, loved and blessed. Erestor, who had written thousands of speeches and would probably have managed to talk a Dwarf into singing "A Elbereth Giltoniel" if he had set his mind to it, was lost when it came to words of love. A simple "I love you" did not cover what he felt for Glorfindel, he wished he could sing a song for him, or paint him, or do anything else to show how much Fin meant to him.

But he was only an advisor - not a poet. Erestor got up, and walked silently over to the sleeping warrior. He slipped out of his clothes and under the blankets, snuggling up close to Glorfindel, hugging him tight. He loved the feeling of Fin's skin under his hands, surprisingly soft and at the same time covered with scars, and Erestor knew them all, having cursed those who were responsible for them ten times over already. He enjoyed the play of the muscles, and basked in the warmth the body next to him radiated.

Scars – they came in all shapes. Some marred the skin, some were invisible, but often, the wounds inflicted on heart and soul hurt more than a deep, bleeding flesh wound. Erestor could only try to imagine how painful the loss of a son must have been for Fin, if this had been the case. How could one survive a child and live on? Even the thought of losing Estorel made Erestor almost cry, and he quickly got up again, to check on the child once more. Estorel was still sleeping, his eyes glazed over in reverie, and he was drooling on his hobbit-doll. Erestor smiled, and gently stroked his child's head, careful not to wake him.

When he returned to the sleeping chamber, Fin was lying on the same spot as before, but he was awake now, watching him.

"Is anything wrong, love?" he asked sleepily, and Erestor shook his head, quickly slipping under the comforter again. Once he had resumed his place, he rubbed his face on Fin's shoulder and placed feather-light kisses on his neck.

"It is nothing. I only checked on Estorel."

Glorfindel turned around, and looked at Erestor, running his knuckles over his mate's cheek.

"This day had an almost surrealistic quality," he finally stated, and Erestor, who leant into the caress, nodded.

"Ai – I still cannot believe Orophin is back. And Gil-galad, of course."

"Yes, Gil-galad – how will Elrond take it?"

Erestor sighed.

"I do not know, Fin. I know that nothing happens without a reason, but what good should come out of his return, I cannot tell yet. Elrond was shocked to his core – I wish the king had shown a little more tact in breaking this news."

Fin hugged Erestor closer to himself, and idly ran his hands over his back.

"I agree – but see, Elrond has mourned so long for his king and – whatever he was, maybe this is a second chance? Maybe the Valar thought that he finally deserved some happiness, too? Elrond has always put others’ happiness before his own. I hope that, whatever comes out of this miracle, will make him happy."

Erestor snuggled closer to Fin, and started to nibble on his collar bone.

"As happy as we are?" he purred, and Fin grinned.

"Happy? Are you happy with me? Rats – and there I was hoping to annoy you royally by binding myself to you and teasing you for all eternity."

Erestor, now exploring Fin's chest with hands and mouth, looked briefly up.

"May I remind you that we are not bound yet?"

"Ah, but this was not my decision."

Erestor purred again, now caressing Fin's side.

"Are you upset that we postponed the ceremony?"

Fin shook his head, and ran his fingers through Erestor's long, dark hair.

"No – you were right. No joy could have come out of it in a time of great mourning. But now, with Orophin being back, we can finally take this step."

Erestor, who had kissed his way down Fin's chest and by now had reached his navel, made the warrior squirm by teasing it with his tongue, then he kissed his stomach and rested his cheek on it for a moment.

"I love you, Fin. You know this, do you not? Even if I might not always find the right words to tell you, I do. You are… you are everything. Sometimes I think I only really started to live the moment you began to love me."

Glorfindel was deeply moved. It was not often that Erestor spoke of his feelings. Of course he knew that Erestor loved him, but in moments like this, he realized how deep this love really was, and he felt awed – awed and grateful for this blessing.

He gently stroked Erestor's hair.

"I know, beloved. Who would have thought some years ago that you and I would ever be here, holding such a conversation – life never ceases to amaze me."

Erestor laughed silently.

"We were quite a couple of silly Elves, indeed."

Fin grinned, too, and before he could comment, Erestor was atop of him, covering his broad, strong body with his own willowy one. He folded his arms over Glorfindel's chest and rested his chin on them.

"I want you Fin. Now."

Fin cocked an eyebrow at his mate.

"My, have we become demanding lately!" he said in mock indignance, and Erestor purred.

"You wear me out, beloved. I do not know how Mordorian Plains Elves survive their mate's fertility cycles without dying of exhaustion, but I shall ask Rabbit about it."

Erestor wriggled and made Fin gasp.

"Do you complain, beloved?" he asked, gently nipping on the elegant tip of one of Fin's ears. "Would you rather have me obedient and submissive?"

"Stop giving me ideas there…" Fin groaned, but Erestor was enjoying himself too much with this game, and while he shifted his body to give them both the greatest possible pleasure, he continued to purr into Fin's ear.

"Would you have me begging, even?" Erestor whispered, gently rocking against Fin's body.

"Ai Elbereth," Fin groaned, arching into Erestor's body, "I have created a monster! What happened to the meek, innocent advisor I seduced with all the evil tricks in the book?"

Erestor, who was now attacking one of Fin's most sensitive spots, had a wicked grin on his face.

"I do not know - I think he has gone fishing."

Fin had to laugh.

"Fishing? Indeed?"

"Yes," Erestor replied, lifting up Fin's leg and placing soft kisses on his inner thigh, "fishing. Meek and mild-mannered Master Erestor is really good at baiting, you know."

"I heard this, too. And how about you? Do you like fishing?"

"Indeed, I do," Erestor purred, working his way slowly up, "it is, actually, only a matter of using the right bait for every fish. But I am sure that you, dear Fin, know a lot about fishing, too. You have quite impressive bait, after all."

"I have?" Fin gasped, and Erestor chuckled, the sound vibrating all through Fin's body.

"Oh yes, you have. And I know one fish who will certainly bite."

Fin yelped when he felt Erestor's teeth biting his skin.

"No need to bite! I do not like carp at all!"

Erestor, who had now reached his target, giggled.

"No carp? What fish would you prefer then?"

Fin peeked down at his evil advisor, who had a very smug grin on his face.

"I would much prefer a blowfish," he gasped.

Which was, admittedly, a rather corny punch line - but Erestor swallowed it.

* * *

Elrond was running over the battle field, trying to get to Gil-galad, who stood at the other end, just stood there, waiting, but the harder he tried to reach him, the slower he got, and the fallen who covered the ground like a morbid blanket reached out with their hands, clawing at his cloak and trying to bring him down. He knew he had to get to his king, or all would be lost, but no matter how long he ran, he never reached him. Eventually, he would fall, and the dead would drag him down, into a dark, horrible void. This was the moment he usually woke up.

Elrond sat up in his bed, drenched with sweat, and gasped. He hadn’t had this nightmare for a long time, and now it had taken a hold of him like never before. He raked his hands through his hair, and took a deep breath. What a horrible dream - and the one before hadn't been much better. He had dreamt that Orophin and Gil-galad had returned from the dead.

How pathetic. How old did he have to be to finally accept his loss? Millennia, and still he mourned his king, his best friend, his - lover? Had it been love? Yes, certainly for his part. It had been hero-worship first, and who could have blamed him - half of Arda was in love with Gil-galad, while the other half dreamt up ways to end his life. Ai, if he could only stop loving him. They say that your first love will always be your best, and maybe this was true. Elrond had loved his wife with all his heart and worshipped the ground she walked on, he had been her protector, her knight in shining armour, but with Gil-galad, it had been the only time in his life where he had been protected and somebody had looked after him.

"I see you are feeling better, penneth," Elrond heard a well known, all too well known, voice behind his back say, and if he hadn't been so utterly shocked, he would have laughed at being called "young one".

He spun around, and came face to face with Gil-galad. Yes, it was him. The dark hair with a slight red shimmer, the blue eyes with the small wrinkles in the corner. He looked like Gil-galad, he had the same scent as Gil-galad, and considering the outrageous way he had appeared this day, there could be no doubt that he really was the last High King of the Noldo, his best friend of old and, in addition, the greatest love of his life.

"Honey, I am home," Gil-galad grinned, and Elrond didn't know whether he should laugh, cry or scream – he felt like doing all these at the same time, so he did the next best thing: he grabbed for his pillow and whacked Gil-galad over the head.

"Never, ever dare to do to me anything like dying again, you… you…" he gasped, interrupted by Gil-galad's large hands tenderly cupping his face.

"Put away your deadly weapon, penneth," Gil-galad quipped, and kissed the completely confused Lord of Rivendell. After initial protests Elrond went limp in his arms, and when Gil-galad finally released him, he found that the Half-elf had fainted again.

"Ha!" Gil-galad said to himself, looking rather smug, "I’ve still got it!"

* * *

The next day, an amazingly quickly recovered Elrond, Gil-galad, Amaris, Erestor and Glorfindel sat around the small table in Elrond's study. The Imladris Elves wanted to know why the Valar had sent the trio back.

Gil-galad looked a little uncomfortable, and pushed the glass in front of him around the table, sighing.

"You know, it is not exactly true that we were sent back," he finally said, eyeing Amaris who was polishing his finger-nails, a fine smile playing around his lips.

"Not exactly? Could you be a little more specific, my lord?" Erestor asked, all chief advisor from head to toe and rather intimidating, especially with that crow on his shoulder, whose first deed had been to try and peck at Gil-galad's eyes. Lovely staff Elrond employed. Charming.

"What Gil-galad King tries not to tell you is that we were not sent back at all. We simply left. Sneaked out through the gate without leaving a note," Amaris said, in his usual bored voice, as if he was dictating the shopping list to one of his servants.

Elrond's eyebrows almost touched his neck.

"You did what? You mean you left the Halls of Waiting on your own? Without being sent back? You have defied the Valar?" he gasped, not able to fully take in the enormity of what he had just learned.

Gil-galad tried to look guilty, but he failed.

Erestor squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, rubbing his eyes.

"My lord – I do not comprehend fully what happens to the Fëa in the Halls of Waiting."

Gil-galad scratched his head.

"I do not fully understand the concept, either. We all have issues in our lives that we need to come to terms with, bad habits, that kind of thing. And once we are even, we can go back. Or something."

"Or something?" Elrond asked, studying Gil-galad's face, but the other Elf shrugged, so Amaris, ever helpful, offered some explanation.

"What his vocally challenged majesty wishes to say is that he, for example, had a list of evil deeds the length of the River Bruinen, and to regret all this and see the light, he would have had to spend at least another two or three ages in the Halls of Waiting."

"Oh, come on," Gil-galad groaned, "it was not THAT bad."

Amaris cocked an eyebrow, and started to count on his fingers.

"Sire, let me refresh your memory. There was overindulgence in alcoholic beverages, excessive smoking of Mithrandir's special weed, gluttony, the banana-incident, the..."

"Banana-incident?" Elrond interrupted, and wriggled his eyebrows.

Gil-galad waved him off.

"Do not ask."

But Aramis, once started, could only be stopped by force.

"Then there was the matter with the maidens, disrespectful behaviour towards the elders, seduction of an innocent, continued...."

"What innocent?" Elrond asked, and blushed when both Elves looked at him with a slightly amused expression.

"Oh. Me."

"Yes, you."

"... war mongery, horse theft, insulting of the Valar, parking of a horse in a pedestrian zone, repeated…"

"Enough, enough, I get the picture," Erestor groaned, and he felt a major headache approaching.

"Now all I need to know is why in the name of Elbereth you undertook such madness? Is Arda in danger? Have you an important task to accomplish? Why?" he asked, looking at the two Elves in despair, and his mood did not brighten when Amaris started to laugh out loud, a pearly laughter like the ringing of silver bells.

"Ai, Master Erestor, you are just too amusing! Please forgive my outburst, but this is priceless. His royal highness here decided to flee the Halls of Waiting for one reason only: to, I quote, 'keep this Lothlórien trollop from weaselling his way into Elrond's bed chamber' – so, in a way, yes, you are right: Arda is in danger!"

Gil-galad, whose face by now had the colour of an over-ripe tomato, glared daggers at Amaris.

"Arda is not the only one in danger here if you do not get your wriggling tongue under control, Amaris."

The Mirkwood Elf, completely unimpressed, continued to polish his nails, giggling once in a while, while Erestor and Elrond slowly realized what a big, big mess they had gotten themselves into.

Elrond gently put his hand on Gil-galad's sleeve.

"Ereinion – the Valar know that having you here again has made me one of the happiest Elves that ever lived, but my heart is also heavy with sorrow, for you know, just as I do, my dearest, that Mandos will not tolerate this. If I could save you by giving up my life, I would happily do so, but Ereinion – I cannot fight the Valar. Think how much pain the Firstborn had to suffer when they turned their backs on them the last time – this cannot happen again."

Gil-galad sighed, and even Amaris looked serious.

Elrond was right – Mandos would not tolerate this.

* * *

"Do you hear this too?" Glorfindel asked, and a deep line showed above his nose, a sign of great concentration.

Erestor listened.

"No, I do not hear anything," he replied after a while, and managed to grab Estorel by his leggings before the child could tear a fistful of pages out of a book on herb lore.

"That is exactly the point, my dear. There is nothing to hear. Not a sound. No bird singing, no wind blowing, no leaves rustling."

Glorfindel stepped on the balcony, and when he looked down the street which led from the Last Homely House through Rivendell and out of the village, he felt his hair bristle.

"Erestor - come here, look at this," he called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from the street.

The advisor picked up the child, who protested and whined.

"Estorel, now be a good Elfling - let us go out on the balcony and see what Ada has discovered, shall we?" he said. Estorel seemed to consider this for a moment, then he started to suck on his thumb and was happy.

"I do not like what I see here, Erestor," Glorfindel said, and pointed towards the street. Erestor followed the outstretched hand with his eyes, and frowned.

It looked like mist - white mist, crawling up the street and already covering parts of the wood. Fin was right - there was no bird singing, and the sun had hidden behind heavy clouds. He could hear Elladan and Orophin talk in the room below, but all of nature's everyday sounds were absent. Even the soft breeze which had played in his braids in the morning had gone. Erestor had experienced such before - it was like the quiet before a heavy thunderstorm broke loose, but though the sun was hidden, there was no indication of bad weather.

And the mist was now approaching Rivendell with increasing speed.

"This is not normal," Erestor said, instinctively hugging the child closer to his chest.

"No, it is not."

Fin looked at Erestor, then he lifted his hand, and first stroked the head of the child, then Erestor's cheek.

"I am afraid I know what this is, my love. Come - let us go outside."

* * *

Elrond, Erestor and Glorfindel stood at the top of the stairs; the Elves of Rivendell had locked themselves away in their houses, instinctively hiding from the upcoming storm, and those living in the Last Homely House were standing close by the door in the Great Hall, not allowed to go outside. Despite vocal protests from Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond would have no gainsaying in this matter, and so they had to obey.

Never in their long lives had the three Elves encountered a sight as frightening as the five riders who headed for the Last Homely House. Four of them looked like they consisted of pure light, shimmering masses of sunrays so bright Elrond had to shade his eyes. Their horses were beautiful, manes like silk flying in the air, and around them was an aura of light, too. Elrond could barely see the outlines of bodies, and it was not possible to tell what the riders looked like. Those four, so he knew, were the Riders of Light, the purest of souls, to guard Mandos and guide those who got lost out of the darkness.

The hooves of their horses should have thundered on the ground, but no sound could be heard, and it looked like the riders were moving in slow motion. Elrond felt the hair on his neck bristle when he finally caught sight of the dark figure riding in their midst.

Mandos.

All of a sudden, before Elrond knew what had happened, the five riders came to a halt in front of him, and he, Erestor and Glorfindel sank to their knees, heads bowed, not daring to look up, and unable to speak.

For a long while, nobody moved, and all Elrond could see were the prancing hooves of a black horse. Then, finally, he felt a wisp of warm air on his cheek, like a gentle caress, but he was sure nobody had touched him.

"Rise, child. While I ask for respect, I do not require submissiveness."

The voice was oddly impassionate, Elrond thought, and he cast a sideways glance at Erestor, who had looked up at these words, an expression of awe on his face.

Still not looking up, Elrond rose, and so did Erestor and Glorfindel.

"Look at me, child," the voice ordered, and Elrond finally looked up.

Whatever he had expected him to look like – this was beyond everything he could have imagined. The rider was clad in black hunter's garb, two bangs of hair black as the night, held together by clasps of silver in the form of skulls, hung down each side of his face, while a mass of hair cascaded down almost to his waist. He wore a circlet matching the clasps, and he was, there could be no doubt, the fairest being Elrond had ever seen. A face of unearthly beauty, Elven looking, but instead of eyes, there was something Elrond could only describe as black light, burning coals, eyes which could see to the bottom of Elrond's soul, and maybe even beyond.

"You know who I am," the rider said, and Elrond nodded, finally finding his voice again.

"You are Mandos, the Guardian of the Halls of Waiting."

"Yes, I am Námo, who you call Mandos. I am here to demand what is mine."

Elrond trembled. Not only was he facing a deity, he was also facing a loss that would probably break his and his eldest son's heart.

"Námo – I know that we mean nothing to you, and whether we live or not is of no importance to you, as we are only grains of sand in a desert, but I beg you, do not take those who have left your halls to return to our midst away from us, for we love them dearly, and this loss would pain us more than we can bear."

The rider got off his horse – not that Elrond observed it, it was a fluid motion, and Námo stood in front of him.

"Pray tell, child – why do you think you mean nothing to us? Have we not given you life? Have we not given you eyes to see and a heart to feel? How could we not care?"

"You have taken my son," Glorfindel said, and stared at Mandos with a mixture of awe and hate.

The Harbinger of Death looked at Fin thoughtfully.

"I did not forge the blade that slew your child. I took your son, this is true. But I have given him back to you, have I not?" the Vala said, cocking his head and looking at Erestor.

Glorfindel stared at his lover, then at Mandos again, and when the meaning of these words finally sunk in, he buried his face in his hands.

"Child, the loss you bemoan is only temporary. Death is an act of purification – your soul returns after undergoing a process of change and improvement. Do you not see that this life you all cling to so fervently is only the first step on a long road?"

Elrond sighed.

"I know this, my lord Námo, but still, this life here is the only one we know, and our hearts are bound to those we love."

Námo nodded.

”I am well aware of this. But we have set laws, child. And we must see that these laws are obeyed, or chaos would reign and this world would be destroyed. So I am here to claim back those who are mine."

Námo took a step back, and looked at the door, which opened all by itself, revealing Gil-galad, Amaris, Elrohir, Elladan, Orophin, Celeborn and Haldir, who all stared at him in shock. Rabbit stood beside Haldir, Bramble clinging to his leg, Estorel on his arm. Bramble and Rabbit were growling.

"I am calling you, Ereinion Gil-Galad, Amaris of Mirkwood, and you, Orophin of Lothlórien, to follow me and return to the Halls of Waiting, so that your souls may be purified and reborn in time."

This was a voice that had to be obeyed, and the three Elves stepped forward.

"No! No! I will not have this! I will not lose you again!" Elladan cried, and clung to Orophin, who looked at him, devastated.

"Let me go, beloved. There is nothing you can do. We have done wrong. We have overstepped a border we should never have, and now we must set this right again."

"I will not have this!" Elladan screamed, his fingers digging deep into Orophin's arm, tears streaming down his face.

Elrond stared at Gil-galad, who returned the look, sadness in his eyes.

"I am sorry, love. Again, I cause you grief, which was what I tried to prevent."

"Mandos – Námo – these Elves have wronged you, I do not deny it. But see – Elrond and Elladan would surely fade from grief if they lose their mates again. Can you not make an exception? Only once?" Celeborn asked, looking at the Vala with pleading eyes.

Námo cocked his head.

"Exception? There is no such thing as an exception. Exceptions were invented by your kind as an excuse for not following the law. It is up to these two Elves to decide if they want to fade or not, I have no say in this."

He beckoned the three fugitives, and again, they followed his call.

"I will not allow this! Ada and Elladan have suffered enough already!"

Before anybody could react, Elrohir, who had watched the whole scene in disbelief, leapt at Námo.

"No!" Elrond cried when he saw his youngest son attacking the Vala, but it was already too late to prevent this sacrilege.

The very moment Elrohir touched Námo, his heart stood still, and he died. A bright light beckoned him to follow, and while he heard his father's and brother's distraught cries, he felt oddly warm and protected. He was falling, into an endless void, and suddenly, he was caught, safely cradled in somebody's arms.

Námo laid the young Elf gently in front of Elrond, carefully so as not to harm him. Then he looked down at the unconscious Elf, studying him.

"A courageous heart and a fiery spirit he is, your son. But it is not his time yet, so I give him back to you."

Elrond knelt down beside his youngest son, checking his pulse and holding his hand, and really, Elrohir's eyes fluttered open.

"Ada?" he asked, confused, "what has happened?"

Elrond didn't say anything, just hugged Elrohir close.

"You stupid boy," he whispered, "you stupid, wonderful boy."

Námo had returned his attention to the three fugitives.

"Come now. I have dwelt here too long already."

Celeborn had watched the scene, all the time trying to think of a way to keep the three Elves here. Not that he would object to seeing the backs of Gil-galad and Amaris, mind you, but the thought of seeing Elladan's and Elrond's hearts broken all over again was too much for him to bear. A last idea came to his mind, a silly one, maybe, but he remembered one of the few things Orophin had said about his encounter with Mandos. Could this work? Well, he had to try, at least.

"Námo – would you consider gambling for them?" he asked, and the Vala, who already held the reins of his horse, turned around, slowly, cocking an eyebrow.

"Gamble? You offer to gamble for their souls?"

'At least he is not refusing outright or turning me into a toad', Celeborn thought.

"Yes, my lord, this I offer."

Námo laughed. It was odd to hear a Vala laugh, but at the same time, Celeborn felt his feet on safer ground again.

"Child – you want me to gamble for something that I already own? This would be a bad deal, do you not agree?"

Celeborn thought about it for a moment.

"There you are right, my lord. So I shall raise the stakes – if I win, Orophin, Gil-galad and the arrogant snob from Mirkwood stay here, unharmed, and you will not claim them as yours."

Námo smiled at Celeborn, amused.

"And if I win, which, I have to say, is very likely, child? What will be my prize?"

"If you should win, you can claim them, and I will come with you, too."

The Elves who had watched the discussion with baited breath cried out.

"Grandfather, you cannot do this!" "Celeborn! Have you gone insane?" "My lord!"

But Celeborn was determined.

"Námo – as you said yourself, you are very likely to win. So what do you risk? You might win my soul, and I assure you, I am entertaining company. I would even bring the TobleroTablero board."

Námo looked at Celeborn, and the former lord of the Golden Wood felt highly uncomfortable under this scrutinizing look.

"Very well," Námo finally said, "it shall be as you wish. But note well, child: if I win, there will be no further bargaining, and you will follow me out of your free will. Do we have an agreement?"

Celeborn nodded.

"You may choose the game to play, child, as it was your idea." Námo told Celeborn, and the Elf nodded.

"I choose the cards then, my lord."

"The cards – ah, I would have preferred the noble dice myself, but very well. Which game?"

Celeborn thought for a moment, then he said: "Each of us draws one card. The higher one wins."

Námo nodded in agreement.

"It shall be as you wish."

Then he turned his head to one of his guards, and said something in a language none of the Elves had ever heard, it was like the murmuring of the wind, and the light moved from its horse, towards its master.

The ethereal being reached out a delicate hand, a deck of cards resting on its palm.

Námo picked the top card, looked at it, then showed it to Celeborn.

It was the Ten of Spades.

Celeborn swallowed hard, and almost took a step back when the bright figure moved towards him. He stared down at the cards, then up to where the being’s face should be, but there was only a bright, warm light – liquid love, he thought, how very odd, then the cards were in front of him, and he picked the top one.

For a moment, not a sound could be heard, and Erestor, who was the one closest to Celeborn, was sure even his heart did not dare to beat.

"I got the Knave of Hearts, my lord," Celeborn finally said, showed the card, and everybody sighed in relief, sending prayers of thanks to every Valar save Mandos.

Námo looked down at the card he still held, then up at Celeborn, and finally, he nodded.

"You have won, child. You may keep these three rascals."

Turning to Gil-galad, he added: "In your case, I should be grateful, I presume. Considering the trouble you caused, I most certainly hope that I will not have to see you any time soon in my Halls."

He cast a last look at Elrohir, thoughtful, so it seemed to Elrond. There was a voice in the young Elf's mind, frightening and tempting alike.

//Your company will be one I shall cherish once your time has come, fair one.//

Námo made to mount his horse again, and Celeborn, who still stared at the living light in front to him, felt how his knees grew weak – only now he fully realized what had been at stake for him.

The white figure moved forward, and whispered something in his ear, a deck of cards was slipped into his hands, and then the figure moved away, mounting the horse. Within a moment, the five riders had disappeared; where to, nobody could tell, but for a long while, everybody stood as if frozen.

Finally, Celeborn looked down at the cards. He flicked the first one over – it was the Knave of Hearts. He flicked the next – the Knave of Hearts again. In fact, the whole deck of cards consisted of nothing but Knaves of Heart.

Erestor, who had been among the first to move and step to Celeborn's side, watched in disbelief how the Lórien Elf went through the deck.

"Celeborn!" he gasped, "does this mean this purest of beings has been cheating?"

Celeborn smiled, tenderly caressing the cards in his hand.

"Of course she has," he answered, still smiling.

"She has always been daddy's girl."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many Elves in many beds - and one sad Mirkwood Elf suffering from a hopeless love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Rivendell was buzzing with activity. Legions of servants were dusting and cleaning the Last Homely House, the Great Hall got a new layer of paint and in the streets of Rivendell, Elves were chatting merrily. The shop owners were outdoing each other with the decoration of the shop windows, and even the blacksmith was balancing on a chair to polish the shield over his door. Glorfindel had made it very clear that he would personally rake over the coals anyone who dared to look less than his or her best on the day of his bonding-ceremony with Erestor, and so Rivendell sparkled like a diamond two days before the festivities.

Elrohir, who was on his way for his morning swim in the Bruinen and planned to visit his sweetheart later on, was in the best of moods. Somehow the sky was bluer and the birds sang more prettily now that the danger of Mandos claiming back Orophin had been lifted, and Elrohir, who had been deeply worried about his twin brother during this last year of mourning, felt he had never seen Rivendell this beautiful, peaceful and happy. Even his father, who was usually quite formal, had recently been caught whistling a merry tune and sliding down the banister of the main staircase like an Elfling.

Indeed, it was a beautiful day, and though the dramatic events surrounding Orophin's return were only a few days past, Elrohir already felt as if it had been years ago. He was not one to dwell on the past; he was more interested in what the future held for him, and as Elladan often jokingly remarked, he had the attention span of a trout.

Elrohir hummed a tavern song he had learned from Glorfindel (with lyrics he would have never dared to sing out loud, at least not in public), and finally left the centre of Rivendell, walked through the small woodland and headed for the path leading down to the Bruinen. He walked for a while along the river till he reached his favourite spot, a small beach, not covered with pebbles like most of the Bruinen's border but with fine black sand. He dropped his towel, unbraided his hair, slipped out of his clothes and had just taken a few gingerly steps into the cold water when he noticed the Elf who was stretched out on a large stone like a lazy cat, hands crossed behind his head, watching him.

Elrohir immediately sped out of the water, grabbed for his towel to cover at least the most vital bits, and cursed himself for not bringing his sword with him, but then again, a sword would have been utterly useless in this case.

"What are you doing here?" he called out, giving the Elf a frown that would have scared an Orc, but which did not seem to impress the other at all. "Are you here for me?"

The Elf rolled on his side, and cocked an eyebrow.

"Indeed, I am," he answered, and seeing Elrohir paling, he added "but not in the way you might fear."

Elrohir, who tried frantically to tie the towel around his hips, let out a sigh of relief, but still, he took a few steps back - after all, he was dealing with the Vala of Death here, and caution was appropriate.

"Are you here for somebody else then?" he asked, eyeing the other suspiciously.

"Child – am I not allowed walking this beautiful place seeking for some pleasant distraction?" the dark Elf asked, sitting up. Elrohir secretly admired how fluid his movements were, like the water of the Bruinen, and just as dark.

"Distraction? You mean – your are not here to – work?" the young Elf asked, unsure of how to word this without causing offence, and he was relieved when he saw the other smile.

"No, child. I am not here to 'work', as you call it. Nobody will have a heart attack, no blades will sting or axes fall, nobody will die of food poisoning resulting from Mistress Mauburz' latest stew-recipe, and you may be assured, my child, that nobody will drown, either, so please do not hesitate to take your swim."

Elrohir blinked.He couldn't help feeling that the other was making fun of him. Indeed, there was wicked amusement in the liquid black lights that were Námo's eyes, but Elrohir made no attempt to re-enter the water.

"With all due respect, my lord – if you are here for distraction, why do you seek me out during my morning bath? Why not visit my father or Lord Glorfindel?"

The other Elf rolled onto his front again, propping his elbow and resting his head on his hand, looking at Elrohir with amusement.

"Rest assured, young Elrohir, that you are a far more pleasurable distraction than your father or my cherished Glorfindel could ever be. This aside, I might be tempted to walk my own halls if I should have to endure the story of the Balrog one more time."

Elrohir couldn't help but blush, but before he found the right words to reply, he heard a lovely female voice calling for him, and he turned around, seeing Eldanorien coming down the path, barefoot and carrying a basket.

"Darling! I knew I would find you here! I brought some breakfast along, I thought we could have a little picnic!"

She laughed, and he managed a smile, then stared at the Elf on the stone again, who was watching the approaching elf-maid with interest.

Eldanorien was a little surprised to see her lover standing there, clutching the towel around his hips and staring at the large stone by the river with a rather scared expression, but then again, it was very early, and Elrohir had never been a morning person. When she reached the small beach, she carefully put down her basket, ran over to Elrohir, hugged him and then kissed him soundly.

She only stopped doing so when she noticed that he wasn't returning her embrace or kiss, but still held the towel, and she released him.

"Now, this is not the kind of reception I expected – are you not pleased to see me?" she asked, pouting.

"Of course I am – it is always a pleasure to see you," he answered, a little too quickly, and then he glanced over to Námo, who shook his head enthusiastically.

"What are you staring at, Elrohir?" Eldanorien asked, confused by her lover's odd behaviour.

"Well – at him!" Elrohir hissed through clenched teeth, and wriggled his eyebrows in direction of the large stone. Eldanorien looked in the direction indicated, but there was nobody, only a stone, framed by daisies.

"Elrohir – what are you talking about? There is nobody… are you jesting?" she asked, and Elrohir stared at Námo, who waved at Eldanorien.

"Elly – do you not see him? He is sitting on that stone, and he just waved at you!" he gasped, and she looked again at the large stone.

"Elrohir – are you not feeling well Do you feel feverish? Maybe you should go and see your ada or your brother?"

He shook his head. This morning certainly had taken on a surreal quality.

"No. No, I'm not running a fever. I… I guess I'm just tired," he muttered, glancing at the Vala, who yawned.

Eldanorien grinned wickedly.

"Tired? Well – then I must make certain you wake up, my love!"

With that, she grabbed for his towel, and quickly snatched it away, leaving him standing in all his naked glory.

Námo applauded, then he blew her a kiss.

"No!" Elrohir shrieked, and tried to get his towel back, but she ran away, laughing, and Elrohir could only escape further humiliation by diving into the river.

Námo pouted, then he shrugged.

"I am most afraid that I will have to leave you now, young Elf, but I am confident that we will meet again."

"With all due respect – I really do not hope so!" Elrohir, who had emerged from the water, groaned, shaking his head.

"What? Why not?" Eldanorien, who had shed her clothes and was now wading through the water towards him, asked, clearly hurt.

"No – not you, love, I was only…"

He broke off. There was no point, she clearly couldn't see Námo, and he would only make a fool of himself if he tried to explain to her that the Harbinger of Death was sitting on a stone, behaving in a most unexpected manner.

"Only what?" she asked, having reached him now, and put her arms around his neck.

"Oh – I was only… thinking how much I have missed you," he said, complimenting himself for his quick wit.

Námo rolled his eyes.

"Aw – you are such a darling, Elrohir," she said, and kissed him again.

"Ouch!" she suddenly yelped, jerked back and slapped his shoulder.

"What? What is wrong? Why did you do that?" Elrohir asked, and she glared at him.

"You just pinched my bottom!" she complained, rubbing her sore backside.

"Me? I did not pinch you!"

"Of course you did!"

"Did not!"

"Sure did – or do you see anybody else here?" she asked, and Elrohir quickly looked over to the large stone.

Alas – Námo had disappeared.

* * *

"With all due respect, Sire, it certainly looks like you are about to lose this fight," Amaris called cheerfully across the training ground, looking up briefly from the task at hand – he was making a chain of daisies and other flowers which Bramble, who sat on his lap and chewed on one of his braids, had collected, but he looked up every so often to enjoy the sight of the two bare-chested Elves sparring. Amaris appreciated beauty in all its variations, and he only regretted it wasn't raining – there was something oddly appealing about Elves covered in mud.

Gil-galad, who tried his best to keep Haldir at bay, ducked and blocked the Lórien Elf's blow with this sword at the last moment.

"I really do not think so, Amaris!" he gasped, trying hard to sound cheerful and confident, but by all the Valar but Námo, this Galadhrim sure knew every trick in the book! He was literally dancing around Gil, and though they had sparred for half an hour already, the younger Elf wasn't even breathing any faster, while the former High King of the Noldo was gasping for every breath.

"Oh, but I do," Amaris answered, putting the finished chain experimentally on Bramble's head to check the fit, "your tongue is hanging out and you sound like an asthmatic Balrog. I am afraid you have met your match there, Sire!" he said happily, then he began to hum a merry tune.

"What is an asmic Balrog?" Bramble asked, frowning, and then continued to chew on Amaris' golden braid.

"Oh, my lovely, that depends – it can be Lord Celeborn when he notices he has run out of hair dye, or former kings who are out of shape and embarrass themselves in front of their minions."

Gil-galad turned as red as a cooked lobster, and the veins on his neck stood out like two ropes.

"There is no match for me, you Mirkwood menace!" he barked, and with the strength of the desperate, he started one last, fervent attack on Haldir, who was caught unaware by this move, and found himself within the fraction of a second without his sword, lying on his back, the point of Gil-galad's blade at his throat.

"So, my lovely Lórien flower, it looks like this old war horse here still knows how to fight!" he called out triumphantly, and Haldir sighed. "You have won, my lord – but I hope you will allow me the pleasure of a revanche?"

Gil put his sword back in its sheath and offered Haldir a hand, helping him back to his feet.

"But of course, dear friend," he said, smiling smugly, "I am more than willing to teach you some new moves."

Haldir tried hard not to roll his eyes, but he had to admit Gil-galad knew how to fight, and he wished he could have seen him in battle. There was something wild about him, "uncivilized," as Lord Celeborn had put it, wrinkling his nose, but while this was certainly true and Gil-galad lacked the manners and elegance of a Lórien Elf, there was also nobility about the former king, wisdom and strength, joined with down-to-earth slyness and a good, though rough sense of humour. He liked Gil-galad, he decided, even if he could not understand what it was about him that had kept Lord Elrond captivated for so many millennia. But Haldir stuck to his Nana's saying that "Every Elf is silly, just in a different way".

"I shall look forward to that," Haldir replied, dusting off his breeches. Then, picking up his tunic, jerkin and sword, he walked over to where Amaris and Bramble were sitting.

"Look ada – I have a circlet!" Bramble crowed, pointing at the flower chain on her head.

Haldir admired the fragile decoration, and stroked her cheek.

"Shall we go and show Sia how beautiful you look today?"

Bramble hopped down from Amaris' lap.

"Yes want to show Sia!" she said, and, turning to Amaris: "I will pick more flowers tomorrow, Maris, and I can catch you crayfish, too. Do you like crayfish?"

Amaris, who refused to eat anything but fruit and vegetables, nodded. "Yes, I love crayfish, my darling, but I prefer them alive."

Bramble, who did not understand the meaning of this statement, clapped her hands.

"Oh! This is good! I eat them alive as well!"

With that, she returned to Haldir, who laughed, and Gil grinned like a fiend. "My, what a lovely shade of green you’ve suddenly turned, dear Amaris – most becoming, it suits your attitude."

Amaris wrinkled his nose in disgust, but refused to answer.

"We shall leave you to a pleasant conversation, my lords," Haldir grinned, bowed his head in greeting and left with Bramble, who walked proud as a peacock and straight as a broomstick, parading her flower crown.

Gil flopped down in the grass beside Amaris, who had started to make the next flower chain.

"Amaris – do you not think that you are too old for this?" he said after watching the blond woodland Elf connecting the flowers with nimble fingers for a while.

"Sire, if I am too old for this, then you are too old to roll around in the grass like an Elfling and lose a sparring fight with a Galadhrim."

"I did not lose!" Gil-galad barked, and Amaris sighed.

"No, you did not. But only because I made you angry."

"What? You did that on purpose?" Gil-galad glared at Amaris, who continued his task, humming.

"Of course. Or would you rather have Celeborn burst with smugness during dinner? Bad enough we owe him our lives – if you lost against one of his Galadhrim, he would be unbearable."

For a moment, Gil-galad stared at his trusted advisor in disbelief, then his laughter roared all over the place.

Amaris, as usual ignoring the king's behaviour, continued humming, occasionally stopping to watch a butterfly or an interestingly formed cloud. For a while, neither of the Elves said anything, then Gil-galad rolled on his front and looked at Amaris.

"Do you think it was wise to return?" he asked, and Amaris looked up.

"Whether it was wise or not, Sire, is of no importance. We are here, so we have to deal with it. I admit it is good to feel alive again, but…"

He broke off, trying to sum up his feelings in adequate words.

"I feel alive, but I do not feel that I belong here. It is not my time. We have missed many millennia, Sire."

Gil-galad sat up, contemplating Amaris' words. He spotted Elrond, who stood on the balcony, obviously overlooking the courtyard. The sight of the tall, dark Elf made him sigh, and he shook his head.

"I know what you mean. Elrond is so – different."

"Elrond has lived his life – he has married, fathered three children, lost his wife; he fought bravely, he has learned a lot, and he has become one of the wisest of our kin."

"He also got a receding hairline."

"My apologies, Sire – how could I forget such an important achievement."

"So what you are basically saying is that he has developed and I have not."

Amaris stopped his work and looked at Gil-galad thoughtfully.

"What I am saying, Sire, is, that he is, technically, a few thousand years older than you, and, if I may dare to say so, you will find it a hard task to catch up with him, and it could do no harm to try to adapt to the current situation."

"I should try to fit into his way of living? Robes and books?"

Amaris shrugged.

"It might help, Sire, if you would stop calling him 'Pumpkin' in front of his court."

"But I have always called him 'Pumpkin'!" Gil-galad protested.

"No, Sire, you have not. The Elf you called 'Pumpkin' was barely beyond his majority and you made him Herald for the sole reason that you were worried he might get lost on the way from your bedroom to the toilet while you were away. You called him 'Pumpkin' as you would have named your favourite dog; you thought for him, decided for him, but now you find yourself in the uncomfortable position of being a king without realm or people, with nothing to your name but the heroic deeds of ages ago, while he is a noble Elf of highest education and immaculate manners, greatly respected among our kin."

Amaris bent forward, looking deep into Gil-galad's eyes.

"In other words, Sire: there is only one 'Pumpkin' around here, and that is you."

Gil-galad swallowed hard – he was used to Amaris' straightforwardness, even appreciated it, but never before had his friend confronted him so bluntly with the truth. First he got angry, then his fury gave way to hopelessness, and he hung his head.

"Amaris – I hate to admit it, but I fear you are right. I do not fit in here. I am a warrior, but there are no wars to win anymore. What can I do?"

The woodland Elf thought about it for a while.

"Wars there are none, that is true," he finally said, "but there is another thing to win: Elrond's heart."

Gil-galad perked up.

"There is nothing I would love more, and I shall not fear this battle – but pray tell, Amaris – how could I win his heart?"

"Court him. Care for him. Elrond is, like every lord, used to carrying the weight of a realm and looking after his people; his life is filled with worries, and he probably yearns for somebody to share this burden with him, and longs to be looked after, too, for a change. If your heart still truly desires him, you must fight for his love."

He shrugged again.

"This is the only advice I can give you, Sire. Now it is up to you to decide what to do."

Gil-galad had listened carefully, and now he smiled at Amaris, brilliantly, a boyish, charming smile, which made him look like a mischievous Elfling.

"You truly are the advisor of all advisors, Amaris. I shall heed your words – this is a war I will win, no matter how many battles it takes!"

With that, he jumped up, slipped into his tunic and jerkin, then he looked at Amaris hopefully.

"Be honest with me – do you think Elrond might love me again one day?"

Amaris gave him a long, thoughtful look, then he shrugged, smiled, and returned his attention to the flowers, while Gil-galad quickly crossed the training ground with long strides.

The woodland Elf dropped the flower chain, his eyes following the tall figure heading for the Last Homely House. His shoulders dropped, and he looked very tired all of a sudden.

"Of course he will fall in love with you," he whispered.

"Who would not."

And as he was all alone, with only ants and butterflies for company, he let his tears flow freely, and they caught in the petals of the flowers like dew.

* * *

Elladan woke up to the sound of loud hammering and some muffled Orcish curses outside his window, followed by the whining complaints of a female voice. Mauburz had obviously designated Lady Firinwë to help with one unpleasant task or another; cleaning the outhouse or something similar delightful.

He had no idea what had possessed Erestor to make the Lady take quarters in the two small rooms above the shop; at times he wondered whether this was to punish Mauburz or Firinwë, for both complained vocally and repeatedly about this arrangement.

Though the sun was already high in the sky, Elladan felt no need to get up. His head rested comfortably on Orophin's chest, and he could hear his heartbeat – a trivial thing, you might say, but considering that Orophin had been dead not too long ago, the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest filled Elladan's heart with happiness.

Elladan still had to touch Orophin every other minute to make sure he was really here and not just a dream. So many things had happened in these last few days – only last week, his days had been one everlasting walk in the darkness, and now the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he was here, lying peacefully snuggled up to his husband.

His husband – also something he had to get used to first. Nobody would ever take Orophin away from him again, and they would live blissfully until the end of Arda – if his father did not decide to throw him to the Wargs, that was, for Elladan had so far conveniently avoided breaking the news to Elrond about his new son-in-law. While Elladan knew deep down in his heart that his father would finally give them his blessings, he dreaded the things which lay before the "finally". Elladan knew his father would be hurt that his heir had married without asking first, without announcement, without celebration. And also Elrohir, though understanding, would be hurt that he had been excluded from this important moment in the life of his twin.

Elladan sighed. He wanted to share his happiness, not spread misery.

"Is anything wrong?"

Elladan looked up. Orophin was awake and smiling at him. Another thing to get used to – gone was the odd, rusty voice; since Orophin had returned from the Halls of Waiting, his voice had the melodious quality that was so typical of his kin. It was deeper than Haldir's, and without the mocking undertone of Rúmil, and Elladan felt he would never get tired of listening to it. Gone also were all the scars, all bruises, the faint scar around Orophin's neck. Indeed, if it hadn't been for Orophin's eyes, which spoke of ancient wisdom, one could have mistaken the Galadhrim for an Elf of Elladan's age.

"No, everything is in order, beloved," he said, and pressed a soft kiss on Orophin's chest.

"I was only thinking about ada and Elrohir."

Orophin gently rubbed Elladan's naked shoulder, and the younger Elf leant into the touch.

"I will speak to your father. It was me who initiated this, so it is nothing but fair if I bear his anger."

"He will not be angry, beloved. He will be sad and hurt, which is worse. His anger I could live with, it's like a straw fire, bright and hot, but short-lived. I love my father very much, and I do not like to see him sad."

"I hope he will deem me worthy of you," Orophin said, letting his hand wander from Elladan's shoulder to his chest, where he circled the nipple with the tip of his middle finger, and Elladan shuddered.

"You are more than worthy, beloved"; he gasped, trying hard not to lose contact with this wicked finger, and Orophin chuckled.

"I am very glad to hear this. But maybe I should prove myself to you once more, just so you can be sure?"

Elladan, who had closed his eyes, nodded, and gasped: "Yes, that is a good idea, one can never be too sure, after all."

Orophin's hand hovered so close over Elladan's skin that he felt its warmth, but not its touch. He arched his back to make contact, but Orophin quickly moved his hand a little further away, and Elladan groaned in disappointment.

"Is there anything you wish, sweet prince?" Orophin purred, and Elladan, who had just discovered this new teasing side to his husband, couldn't make up his mind which of his wishes to voice first, so he moaned instead.

"You have such a wonderful way with words, Elladan." Orophin grinned, then rolled on top of his mate, nuzzling his neck.

"Mmmm… I like the way you smell," he murmured, and gently bit the lobe of Elladan's ear. "I also like the way you taste." Giving a long, slow lick up the ear to finish nibbling on the tip, he added: "You taste lovely."

Elladan laughed, and ran his hands lightly and lazily over Orophin's back.

"You know," he said, rubbing his cheek on Orophin's, "I still fear I might wake up and find this is all just a dream."

Orophin moved to look in Elladan's eyes. He gently stroked his cheek.

"I always thought of you, Elladan. There was not a second when I did not think of you. When I - when I died, I was still there for some time, watching you all. I heard Haldir's blessing, and saw your distress, and seeing you suffer was so much worse than knowing that I died. I have always been with you, Elladan - always, every moment, and never doubt, no matter what might happen in our lives, that I would be with you. There is nothing that could separate us - maybe in body, yes, but not in mind, not in soul, and certainly not in heart."

Elladan felt tears sting again in his eyes, and tried to stop them, but to no avail. Orophin kissed them away, covering the trembling Elf with his body.

"I love you very much, Elladan," he simply said, and smiled, an almost shy, young smile.

"And I love you very much, Orophin," Elladan replied, brushing his lips over his husband's, "and if you do not take me within the next ten seconds, I shall scream at the top of my lungs for all of Rivendell to hear what a tease you are."

Orophin chuckled, and his hands wandered down Elladan's body.

"Now that is not very advisable, beloved. Your ada would stand in this chamber within the minute."

Elladan, who had drawn up one leg and put it around Orophin's waist, dug his hands into his husband's back, pressing him even closer, and gasped: "Will you stop talking and fulfil your marital duties already?"

"Of course," Orophin grinned, "you know how seriously we Galadhrim take our duties. We excel when it comes to our sense of duty. The only thing we are better at is archery."

"Then shoot away, you master archer!" Elladan growled.

Which Orophin did.

Hitting the bull's eye, of course.

* * *  
Glorfindel dreamt.

He dreamt of a battle, of heroic deeds, and right now, he dreamt of killing a Warg. The beast crashed on him, breathing out the life Fin had taken, and burying the Balrog-slayer under its body. He tried to struggle free from the heavy weight, but to no avail. The Warg didn't move a bit, and now it seemed to have come to life again, and was licking Fin's face.

"Leave me be, you beast!" Fin groaned, and tried to push the creature away.

"Beast? Did you just call me a beast?" Erestor, who was lying on top of Glorfindel and had just been nibbling on his mate's neck, jerked back, glaring at the blond warrior with annoyance.

"Uh? It is you, Erestor?" Fin muttered, slowly waking up.

"Of course it is me," Erestor said, his voice slightly ironic now, "or whom did you expect? Mauburz the Straggler? Or maybe the lovely Firinwë?"

"Oww, get away with that one, it is too early in the morning to mention her name," Glorfindel moaned, and tried to move out from under Erestor, but his mate wouldn't have it.

"Now this is charming," Erestor said, wrinkling his long nose, "here I am, trying to wake you in a pleasant manner, and all I get as a reward is one grumpy Balrog slayer."

Fin sighed.

"Darling - the Valar know I love you. I would climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest sea, fight the most terrible monster and even pick flowers for you, but whatever it is you have in mind now, and I have a pretty good idea what this might be, the answer is: no."

Erestor pouted.

"No? Why not?" He bent down, nuzzling Glorfindel's neck again, planting kisses along his jaw line and nibbling on his ear.

"I desire you greatly, Fin," he said huskily, and his long fingers danced over Glorfindel's body, but his mate seemed seriously reluctant to comply with his wishes.

"Erestor - I said: no. This is not a matter of wanting, it is a matter of being able to. You desired me greatly six times yesterday, and now I am all worn out. I am an old, battle-worn Elf, my love, and as much as I would love to comply with your wishes: I cannot."

Erestor rolled off of his mate, sat up and pulled the blanket almost up to his nose.

"You do not desire me anymore. Do not deny it, Fin, I noticed well - what is it? I know that my hair does not shine anymore as it used to before Estorel was born, and I might look tired, but is there nothing I could do to make you desire me again?" he said, and looked at Glorfindel with sad eyes, which almost broke the warrior's heart.

"Erestor - my love," he said, sat up and folded the other Elf in his arms, "I still desire you. I have never desired anyone like I desire you, and being with you is pure bliss. But there is only so much strength I can muster, and I am afraid that you have worn me out, beloved. Give me some time to recover."

Erestor rested his head on Glorfindel's shoulder, and the warrior felt his mate's hot tears on this skin.

"If you still desire me, why do you not want me, then?" Erestor sobbed. "Why do you deny us another child?"

Glorfindel stroked Erestor's hair, then he cupped his chin and made the advisor look at him.

"Erestor - I almost lost you when you gave me Estorel, the most beautiful gift I ever received. I will not take this risk again. I know that you go through a difficult time, you are right in the middle of your fertility cycle and this makes you act the way you do. Please do not despair, beloved, it will soon be over, and we can return to our normal life. Maybe you should go to see Elrond, he might have a draught to help you."

Erestor starred at Glorfindel, and there was an odd, unreadable expression on his face. He seemed to consider Glorfindel's words, then he freed himself of his mate's embrace, lay back down and turned his back to the warrior.

"This I will do. I shall go and see Elrond."

And though this was exactly what Glorfindel wanted to hear, he had an odd feeling in his stomach.

Had he just made a very big mistake?

* * *

It was not difficult for Elrond to locate Gil-galad. The laughter was loud enough, and stepping onto the balcony, he could see him, jesting and laughing with the guards, entertaining them with jokes of a rather questionable kind, and Elrond wondered how in Elbereth's name he could ever have found this behaviour charming.

Well. It was still charming, in a way. It was a bit like watching Rabbit - though Haldir would have been insulted for months if he had voiced such a comparison - a being of a time long passed. But while Rabbit and his tribe filled him with awe and respect, all Gil-galad ignited was a wish, daily harder to suppress, to smack his former king and lover on the head. Oh, he was still the fairest Elf Elrond had ever seen, and he still dreamt about seeing the dark hair with the red lights fanned on his pillow, but Elrond had changed, grown up, and Gil-galad was basically still the wild, carefree warrior he had always been. Not a quiet, observant ruler like Elrond, but strong, demanding, always willing to bend rules in his own favour and not always too aware of the needs of others. As a young Elf, this strength had impressed Elrond very much, he had hero-worshipped Gil-galad, but now, with the wisdom of millennia, he saw that what he had considered Gil-galad's strengths were also weaknesses.

'Do I still love him?' Elrond wondered, 'Or do I love the idea of loving him? Have I, over the years, cherished a picture of him in my heart which was false? Have I been delusional?'

He sighed. No – he still loved Gil-galad. He really did. But there was no way they could simply pick up where they had ended so many years ago. If this was supposed to work – and Elrond had every intention of making it work – they had to make a fresh start. He had tried to explain to Gil-galad how he felt, but while the other had nodded and agreed to take things slowly, Elrond was well aware that his former lover did not really understand why Elrond's bedchamber was closed to him, and he hoped that Gil-galad at least knew that locked door did not equal locked heart.

"Why so sad, Elrond? I thought I would find you singing and possibly even dancing on the table?" a familiar, mocking voice could be heard, and Elrond turned around.

"Celeborn – oh, I am happy. There are just a few things I had to think about."

Celeborn stepped to his side and looked down at the main square.

"I see," he said, "though I think it's not a few things, but rather one thing."

Elrond didn't answer, he just sighed. Celeborn rested his hand on Elrond's shoulder, gently squeezing it.

"Give him time, dear friend. He is not as carefree as he pretends to be – the time in the Halls of Waiting has taken its toll on him as well. You had your family and your friends – he had thousands of years of hopeless longing for you."

Elrond turned around, surprised.

"This coming from you, Celeborn? I would have thought you would be the last here to feel pity for him."

Celeborn grinned – a very cheeky grin, Elrond thought.

"Ah, Elrond – there you are wrong. I do not feel pity for him. If it was up to me, I would wrap him up in a parcel and send him to Mirkwood as a begetting-day present for Thrandúil, along with Amaris, but I know that you care deeply for him, and I have not seen you smile as you have done these last days for many, many years, and this fills my heart with joy."

Elrond fought down the lump in throat, and looked up at the former lord of the Golden Wood.

"I have not even thanked you properly for what you did. You risked your life, your soul for the three of them."

"Ah," Celeborn said, waving Elrond's words off, "I was only doing what I can do best: gambling. And what a wonderful opportunity to look like a hero… believe me, I did it for you, Elladan and Orophin, not for this cave troll of an Elven lord. This aside," he added, and a smile played around his lips, "I did have a little help there."

Elrond looked at him expectantly, but Celeborn did not continue, he simply smiled, and took his hand off Elrond's shoulder.

"I must apologize, Elrond – I should never have done it."

Elrond knew well what "it" was, he still couldn't believe that Celeborn had actually tried to kiss him, but even less expected was his apology now.

"You must not, Celeborn – I was not upset, I was just – confused. I did not expect you to … do that." he said, a little unsure, and Celeborn looked at him thoughtfully.

"No? Then you must be remarkably blind, dear friend. I hold you very high in respect, Elrond, you are honourable, wise, kind and courageous and, if I may say so, not exactly beaten with the ugly stick. You made my daughter happy. You are the father of my three wonderful grandchildren. But still, I should not have done it. It was not appropriate to do something which was so clearly against your will."

"Oh, I would not put it like that", Elrond said, running his finger over the armrest of his chair, "I was just – surprised."

Celeborn stared at him.

"You would not have objected if I – well, if I had asked you?" he gasped, and Elrond shrugged.

"I cannot tell, Celeborn – I like you better than you think, and I was very lonely. Who knows – if you had asked me instead of surprising me so, I might have agreed to – try."

Celeborn, after recovering from the shock of this revelation, towered up in front of Elrond.

"So then, you annoying Half-elf - let us forget for a minute that King Cave Troll is down in the courtyard, and let us forget all other unpleasant realities as well, such as my being married to your mother-in-law: Elrond, may I kiss you? Just so you and I know what it would be like?"

"I guess it cannot be helped. Go ahead."

Celeborn cocked his head and moved forward, picking up where they had been so rudely interrupted by Gil-galad's portrait not too long ago. Their lips met, and Celeborn almost sighed with delight when he felt Elrond opening up to him. He tasted lovely, as expected - no, lovelier. Very lovely. Maybe he should...

"Oh, my deepest apologies – I hope I have interrupted something?"

The two lords jerked back as if a snake had appeared between them, but it was only Gil-galad who stood in the doorway, an innocent expression on his face.

Celeborn certainly would have preferred the snake, and Elrond cleared his throat.

"No… no, we just finished our… meeting," he muttered, and Celeborn was silently counting to 27 to calm down before he turned around.

"Gil-galad – how very nice to see you," he said, and the smile he gave the former king was so menacing it would have frightened an Orc out of his armour, but Gil-galad only cocked an eyebrow, and marched across the room.

"If I had known that you had an important meeting, I would have come later. Shall I return in an hour, Elrond?" he asked, and Elrond shook his head, giving Celeborn an apologetic look.

"No - as I said, we are finished. How may I help you?"

"I hoped you would have the time to show me your remarkable thimble-collection, dear friend. I’ve heard so much about it, and before I ride out to whack the mentally deficient who sells my picture on thimbles with a fluffy pillow, I thought I should have a look at the items in question first."

Celeborn almost laughed out loud, and only didn't do so because he was not amused in the least. 'Thimble collection, my backside', he thought, 'his picture should be on archery targets, and I bet they would be a top seller. I would certainly buy one!'

"I hope we do not keep you from any important duties, dear Celeborn," Gil-galad purred, "an important Elf like you sure has many tasks that demand his attention."

"Indeed," Celeborn replied, delighting in mentally strangling the other Elf, "there is much work I have to do while you do Elrond - I mean, while you and Elrond do what you do - so I shall withdraw now to my chambers and wish you a most pleasant day. And Elrond," he said, already standing at the door with the handle in his hand, "while you are at it, do not forget to show our dear friend here those lovely commemorative mugs of yours, and the Gil-galad quill holder, calendar and collectable feather duster. Namaarië."

With that, Celeborn stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him with such a might that the paintings in the hallway danced on the wall. One fell down, its heavy carved frame almost splitting Celeborn's head, and he only escaped because a large plant softened its fall and gave him time to jump aside. He stared at the large painting, then he picked it up, not really surprised to find it was a portrait of Galadriel.

There could be no doubt - the Valar hated him.

* * *  
Fin didn't know why he was lurking here, hidden behind one of the tapestries covering the walls of Elrond's library. As a matter of fact, he felt like an idiot; the last time he had done such a thing was back in Gondolin when he had been an Elfling of 60 years, hiding to watch his cousin undress. She had found him and whacked him hard with her hairbrush as a result. Still, it had been worth it.

He had a premonition – a feeling something would happen here, so he kept still and didn't move when Elrond entered the study, crossed the room and stood by the balcony. From time to time, the lord sighed, and looked over his shoulder, as if he was expecting somebody to come for a visit, and indeed, soon enough, a soft rap on the door could be heard, and Elrond called "please come in". Fin could only see a small part of the room through the gap between two tapestries, but he knew the soft steps on the floor, would have known them in his sleep, and so it did not come as a surprise to him when he heard Erestor's voice: "You asked to see me, my lord?"

"Indeed, I did, Erestor. Please come here, to the balcony – you look pale, you need some fresh air."

Obediently, Erestor stepped to his lord's side and into Fin's angle of vision; he studied his mate and had to agree with Elrond: Erestor did look pale and exhausted, dark circles were under his eyes; eyes that shone as in fever, and the dark Elf opened and closed his hands without pause.

"Erestor", Elrond began, not looking at his advisor, "I have watched you carefully these last weeks, and I see that you are not well. I do not wish to intrude on your private life, but Erestor, I think you should get some rest. Let others take over your duties for a while."

Erestor stared at Elrond, and Fin held his breath – it was inevitable that Erestor would protest and get upset. Of course Elrond was right – but did he have to put it so undiplomatically?

But Erestor didn't protest at all. He stepped closer to Elrond, resting his hand on the lord's arm.

"You do not understand, Elrond, my friend," he whispered, "this is not an illness that will pass, and you cannot sooth my pain by locking me away."

Fin saw the cold sweat spreading over the ashen skin, and the hand which clawed into Elrond's arm. Never had he heard Erestor address his lord in such an intimate manner, and this scared him more than anything else.

"I wish I could understand, my dear, dear friend," Elrond sighed, studying his chief advisor with the eye of a healer, "but if I had the means to relieve you from your pain, I would do it, this you know."

To Fin's increasing discomfort, Erestor stepped even closer to Elrond, so close actually that his robes were rustling against the lord's, and his eyes were like two coals in his pale face.

"You have the means, Elrond," he murmured, and to Fin's horror, he saw his mate rub his face on Elrond's shoulder, his hands caressing the lord's side.

"Give me what Glorfindel is not willing to give!"

Elrond stared at his advisor in disbelief, and pushed him gently, but firmly away.

"Erestor! Come to your senses! You do not know what you say!"

"Oh, I know very well, fair one," Erestor purred, wrapping his slim figure around Elrond like ivy around an oak, "I have noticed how you watched me, have noticed long ago. Do you deny you have thought about me? Imagined what I would feel like, how I would taste?"

"Indeed I do deny this!" Elrond protested, trying to free himself from Erestor who had obviously gone mad, but he knew it was a lie, and Erestor knew it, too. Yes, he had thought of Erestor in an inappropriate way, had often secretly mourned that he had never pursued this, and then Glorfindel had come along, and though Elrond had thought the whole matter over and done with, his body was very willing to enjoy Erestor's caresses now, while his mind screamed to get out of this place before he did something he would regret until the end of Arda.

Fin wanted to storm out, to drag Erestor out of the room, but he was not able to move a limb, he was paralyzed, his legs refused service. He was glad he was still able to breathe.

Erestor knew exactly what buttons to push to break down Elrond's defences. He begged, he purred, he cried, his hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing, demanding. The heat of his body was penetrating Elrond's robes the same way his scent was fogging Elrond's mind, and there was only so much the Lord of Imladris could summon up in resistance, a resistance that was crumbling like an old cake. He had been lonely for so long, and not felt a lover's caress, and it felt good, so good to be touched and wanted. So finally, he gave in to Erestor's ministrations, answering his advisor's demanding kisses, burying his hands in the long, dark hair and returning his passion.

Fin saw his mate and his best friend sink to the floor, saw robes being shed and heard the moans, and registered the caresses and kisses on the familiar pale skin. He only saw the two bodies, entwined, moving in an ancient rhythm, he couldn't see their faces, but he knew how Erestor looked in a moment like this, his mind replayed pictures of lips whispering terms of love and desire, he saw dark hair spread around the beloved face, a willowy body aching in passion. There was nothing Glorfindel could do but stand there and watch, witnessing his life falling to pieces, and an odd thought crossed his mind: what would Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen say when Erestor eventually gave birth to their half-sibling?

Finally, something broke free in Fin's soul, and he screamed like he had never screamed before, screamed like he would never scream again, screamed his anger and the pain of the betrayal, and finally, he sank to his knees and just sobbed, Erestor's name, over and over again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grande finale - Erestor and Glorfindel get bonded, good friends leave, and in the end, Glorfindel fulfils Erestor's greatest wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

Finally, his legs decided to move again, and Fin stormed forward, tearing down the tapestry he had hidden behind in the process, and dragged Elrond violently off Erestor, but his lord would not give in so easily, spun around and grabbed Fin by the shoulders, shaking him hard, again and again and…

"Fin… beloved, what is wrong?" Erestor asked, worried, and tried to shake the distraught Elf back into awareness.

Glorfindel bolted up, covered in cold sweat, and stared at Erestor in panic.

"Erestor…" he gasped, and his mate gently pushed a sweat-soaked strand of golden hair behind Fin's ear.

"You must have had a nightmare, beloved – have you dreamt of Mandos' Halls again?" Erestor hugged Glorfindel, and gently, but firmly made him rest his head on his chest.

"No", Fin whispered, "I have not dreamt of death. I have dreamt of something worse by far."

Erestor didn't question him any further, just kept on stroking the warrior's hair till Fin's heartbeat calmed down and his eyes were glazing over in reverie again.

And Erestor wondered what could be worse for Glorfindel than death.

* * *

"So, you little rascal - we shall have a very serious father-son talk now", Glorfindel said, and lay down flat on his front to be on eye-level with his son who sat on a blanket in the nursery and chewed on a slice of apple, making a terrible mess.

"Aggagagggagagaa!" Estorel replied enthusiastically, and waved the badly mutilated piece of fruit in the air.

"Yes, that is exactly what I wanted to talk about," Glorfindel said, and tickled the soles of the Elfling's naked feet. Estorel giggled and squirmed, sputtering chewed apple all over Fin's face.

"Eww - now that is not the way I intended to start his discussion," Fin muttered, and cleaned his face with a corner of the blanket.

"Gaaaagggooooo!" Estorel confirmed, smearing apple in his hair, which by now reached down to his chin and had turned from the original black with red lights into a deep auburn, which was an interesting contrast to his dark blue eyes.

Fin tried to pick up the discussion again.

"So that is your fëa in there, Luinil, if I understood His Holy Deadliness correctly," he said, staring at his son, trying to find any trace of the child he had lost in such a tragic way many ages ago.

"Gah!" Estorel said, and nodded, wiping sticky fingers on his soft green tunic.

Glorfindel took one of his son's tiny feet in his large hands, and gently stroked it, as if it was made out of glass, a precious, fragile gem.

"I do not know if you can really hear or understand me, my son, but I ask you to forgive me my foolishness. I should have never allowed you to ride with me into battle, but I was so proud, and you were so eager - ai, it is all my fault, my sweet little prince."

The child looked at him, smiling, and Fin pressed a kiss on the little one's brow.

"I have no words to tell you how very much I loved you, and still love you, my son. No moment has passed without me thinking of you, remembering what a wonderful son you were. I often woke up, believing I heard your laughter, only to find your room empty and your mother in despair. You must not think that I did not love her, son, but it is your Sia who is the true companion of my soul, and you have chosen wisely in choosing him.

“I do not know what I did to deserve the grace of seeing you return into my arms, but I promise you that I will make everything up to you, little one – I will be a good father this time. Though truth be told - you have very bad judgement, returning to a good-for-nothing rogue like me."

Fin buried his face in his hands, and cried - he couldn't even tell if these were tears of pain over losing his son, or tears of joy for seeing him returned - he just felt a shadow lifted from his heart and his mind, and when a tiny hand clumsily stroked his hair, a wonderful sense of peace came over him.

Not only his son had returned - Fin had come home, too.

* * *

'Elves never cease to amaze me,' Gandalf thought, smoking his pipe, occasionally blowing smoke rings in the air, and he pointedly ignored Galadriel, who wrinkled her nose and demonstratively coughed every time one of the grey circles wafted her way. He finally blew smoke in the form of a swan for her, and she gave him a smile, though she let a loud cough follow - she couldn’t lose face, after all.

The old wizard watched the busy life of the small camp the Lórien Elves had set up. He had met with them halfway between Lothlórien and Rivendell and had been invited warmly to complete the journey with them, and he had agreed with delight, for Galadriel was always good company. They had discussed the upcoming bonding-ceremony between Erestor and Glorfindel and, in a quiet moment, the miracle of the three returned Elves. He was careful not to speak too loudly - after all, this was nothing which should be heralded all over Arda yet, the trees had ears and mouths at times, and he first wanted to talk to Gil-galad himself before he made up his mind about this whole affair. This aside, he had some rather unpleasant news for the Lord of Imladris - news with consequences for all of Middle Earth, but right now, he simply enjoyed being surrounded by laughter and merriment.

Some Elves had just finished a song about young love unrequited, and everybody was wiping away tears.

"No more tears, my friends," Rúmil called out, and jumped up, "'t is a time for laughter and joy!"

He took a flask from his belt, which contained the strongest Shire Brandy available, and offered it with a big smile to Galadriel, who first sniffed suspiciously at the bottle neck, then took an experimental sip and immediately started to cough and retch - by the Valar, what a dastardly beverage!

Rúmil laughed, then he stepped into the middle of the small circle, and began to sing, swaying and tripping over his own feet, pretending to be drunk and juggling the flask:

 

"Of all the birds that ever I see,  
the Owl is the fairest in her degree,  
For all the day long she sits in a tree,  
and when the night comes, away flies she,  
Te whit, te who, to whom drinks now?  
Sir knave to thou,  
This song is well sung, I make you a vow,  
and he is a knave that drinketh now.  
Nose, nose, no-o-o-nose,  
and who gave thee that jolly red nose?  
Cinamon, Ginger, Nutmeg, and cloves,  
and that gave thee thy jolly red nose."

 

Everybody laughed, cheered and clapped their hands, and even the Lady of the Golden Wood joined in, giggling like a young Elf maiden, and by the Valar, this was a sight Gandalf enjoyed, for when had anybody seen the stern lady behave like this?

On and on it went, tale and song, and when finally everybody retired to their bedrolls, it was already deep into the night. Gandalf retreated to the comfort of his little cart, pulling his hat well down over his face, and soon his snoring was the only sound to be heard, some owl cries aside.

Some distance from the main camp, Galadriel sat in the grass, legs stretched out, leaning on a huge oak tree. Rúmil lay on his back, his head resting in her lap, her left hand on his chest, playing with the fastening of his cloak, and he explained to her the names of all the stars above - most of them he made up as he went along, for he knew of astronomy about as much as a cow knew of dancing, but Galadriel, who knew every star by its name and most of them personally, just smiled.

"And this is a very special star, my lady - it is called 'Most beautiful Lady of the Silver Hair', and without a doubt, it is the brightest star of them all. And see the small one who stands close by her? That one is called 'Pining Galadhrim' - not too bright, but nice to look at."

Galadriel laughed silently.

"I would not say that this star is not too bright - he is bright enough to know to keep a distance from the big shiny one so that he may not burn himself on her flame."

Rúmil looked up to her. The moonlight reflected on her hair which was of almost the same colour as the silver beams, and he felt he had never seen his lady more beautiful.

"Ah, my lady - it is in the nature of small stars to pine for bright stars who do not want them in return."

She sighed.

"Rúmil, very often the path we take is not the one we have chosen, but the one that is chosen for us. Were I to follow my heart, the little star would not have to burn, but could warm himself by the fire. But I may not follow my heart - you know as well as I do that no star is alone up there in the sky - they all rely on each other, and if one star falls, all others might follow, leaving the night dark and cold for us."

Rúmil snuggled up closer to her, and closed his eyes when he felt her fingers gently caress his face.

"My lady - I have sworn loyalty to both you and the Lord Celeborn, and to this oath I will adhere till the end of times or my dying day. But he has not treated you the way you deserve, my lady. Even an Elven lord can err in his ways."

There was neither anger nor bitterness in his voice, only concern, and she sighed.

"Neither of us has treated the other the way we deserved, so the blame should not be put on one party alone, dearest friend."

The Galadhrim opened his eyes and propped himself up on his arm, looking straight into her eyes now.

"My lady - we all know, better than we wish to, of his visits to houses, huts and Telain whenever he felt the fire rise. Do not think us blind - we see every being, Elf or Orc or Dwarf, who enters the Golden Wood. Our eyes are sharp and our ears are keen - nothing happens in the Golden Wood without us knowing it. Your people have compassionate hearts, my lady - we do not enjoy hearing you weep at night."

Galadriel quickly looked away.

"To hear you of all the Elves say such a thing," she murmured, and Rúmil cupped her chin, moving her head gently to face him again, and he frowned.

"Why does this come as such a surprise, my lady? Did you think me to be without a heart?"

Galadriel shook her head. She couldn't possibly tell him why it moved her so to hear these words from him. He reminded her so much of Celeborn as he had been so many ages ago - caring, fun, passionate, loving, and unpredictable. Every day she spent with Rúmil she discovered more similarities between the two, and she chided herself for having been blind for so long.

"I think your heart is a most precious thing, Rúmil - so you should be very careful whom you gift with it."

He leant closer, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

"I cannot give my heart to anybody, my lady," he whispered, "for I do not own it anymore."

Before she could reply to this, his lips were on hers again, and though she knew that this was a very wrong and very foolish thing to do, she returned his kiss with equal passion. It felt so good to be wanted, admired - loved? To run her hands through his long hair, to let them wander over his back, feeling the warmth of his body and the play of the muscles. She felt her resistance melt like an icicle exposed to the winter sun, and so she was grateful when he broke off to catch his breath. He looked at her, took in the flushed features, the sparkling eyes, and he read well what she did not speak out loud. He playfully kissed her nose, then he got up, stroked her face lovingly with the back of his hand and covered her with the light blanket, tucking it in around her lithe form.

"Sleep, my lady. I will be out, standing guard, so that no bad dreams may disturb you this night."

He winked at her, then he turned around, and her eyes followed him until he disappeared between the trees, becoming one with the darkness - an invisible forest spirit.

* * *

There were moments when Elrond found it a hard task to follow Glorfindel's train of thought. Moments like this one, for example. One minute, they both sat peacefully over a game of chess, the next he found himself involved in a most obscure discussion.

"Check and mate – you have lost, Glorfindel", Elrond grinned, and the warrior sighed.

"Indeed – you have out-manoeuvred me again, Elrond."

He leant back in his seat, and eyed the Lord of Imladris carefully. Elrond, despite his obvious mortal ancestry, was very fair of face, there was a hidden humour in his eyes, and he was kind, wise and the best of friends. He moved gracefully, had a melodious voice, and if the rumours Glorfindel had picked up through the centuries and Gil-galad's amusing little tales could be believed, there were a good number of other reasons why the High King had been so smitten with the Peredhil – reasons Glorfindel preferred not to know in full detail.

Elrond spent more time with Erestor than he did – which was a natural thing, as Erestor was his chief advisor, and there were treaties to be prepared, speeches to be written, late hours to be worked… not that Glorfindel doubted Erestor's faithfulness at all, but what about Elrond? Surely he must have noticed what dark treasure was sitting to his left in the council? Had he really been blind all these years? Certainly not!

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed.

"Do you like Erestor?" he asked suddenly, and Elrond, who naturally had no idea what Glorfindel had been brooding over all the while, looked up in surprise.

"Now what kind of question is that, Glorfindel – of course I like Erestor. Why should I not like him?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes, why should you not – he is very fair of face, is he not?"

Elrond cocked an eyebrow.

"Glorfindel – what is this about? Do you have a reason for these rather odd questions or …"

"Oh, no, nothing. Nothing. Really. I just wondered. So – you do not think he is fair of face, then?"

"Of course he is fair of face. As if you did not know that by now! But again: why do you ask these questions?"

Alas, Fin had no intention of revealing the reasons for his curiosity, and replied with another question.

"So you think he is fair of face. Have you ever considered bedding him?"

"Bedding him? Erestor? Fin – how many glasses of Miruvor did you have before you came here?" Elrond asked, indignant.

"None. And you have not answered my question yet – have you ever considered bedding him? Have you tried? Is there something I should know before we get bonded tomorrow?"

Glorfindel was by now leaning over the small table, ignorant of the chess figures he had swept off with his sleeve.

"I really hope you are not implying here what I think you are implying, Lord Glorfindel," Elrond answered, leaning forward, too, and there were icicles forming in the air between the two Elves.

"It is for the entire world clear to see that Erestor loves you, and you alone. So this interrogation here is not only pointless, but also highly insulting, both to me and to your intended, and I would suggest you spare Erestor similar treatment, unless you wish to hurt his feelings."

Glorfindel dropped back in his seat, and sighed.

"I am sorry, my lord - please forgive me. I just had a most disturbing dream last night, which refused to leave my memory once I awoke, and..."

Elrond looked at him again, this time with the eyes of a healer.

"Glorfindel - we have been friends for many millennia. I can see that something worries you deeply. Would you not maybe share with me the dream you had? So often what we experience in the land of dreams can point us to something which is bothering us in real life. Maybe I can help?"

Glorfindel wrung his hands.

"Ai, what you say is true, Elrond - fine, I shall tell you. But do not think badly of me."

"I will not. Go ahead."

Elrond leant back, filled his glass with wine again and concentrated on the warrior.

Fin emptied his glass in one go, then he said: "I have dreamt Erestor was cheating on me. With you."

Elrond cocked an eyebrow, but didn't comment, and Fin continued.

"See - he really wants to have another child. And while I do not object to the idea of having a larger family in principle, I am too worried about him to give in to his wish. I... almost lost him the last time, and I do not want to put him through all this again. He is not a full Plains Elf - we know nothing about how this might affect him, and... oh, I do not know. He could do so much better than me."

Elrond, who had listened carefully, leant forward.

"So, if I understood you correctly, you do not think yourself good enough for Erestor, you worry that he might leave you for somebody who is, at least in your own estimation, 'better' than you, and you deny him another child because you fear you might lose him - did I understand you right?"

Fin nodded, and looked down at his boots.

Elrond got up, walked towards the window, and looked down into the courtyard where Gil-galad was talking to Amaris, gesturing wildly, while the Mirkwood Elf polished his finger nails and yawned.

"Glorfindel, dear friend - I would be a liar to deny that I have, at times, been attracted to Erestor. If you work in such proximity for so long a time, it happens. But," he said, turning around and looking sternly at the warrior, "there has not been a single moment where I had the feeling that Erestor was interested in me. Not once in all these millennia. I have been lonely for a very long time - do not hold it against me that I have longed for comfort from time to time."

Glorfindel stared at Elrond, and the Elf lord couldn't help but smile at the flabbergasted expression on his friend's face.

"I know you so well, Glorfindel. There is a sweet, gentle, generous soul hidden behind your loud and rough behaviour; the bigger the Balrog grows in your stories, the smaller your self-esteem is. Do not think me blind, my friend. And do not think Erestor to be blind, either. He has seen through you, he has chosen you willingly and with all his heart, with his soul, and if you wish to ask me if you should be bonded tomorrow, or if you were not 'worthy' of him, there is only one thing I can say: you two were made for each other."

Glorfindel looked at his lord, and managed a small smile.

"Do you really think so, Elrond? Is this your honest opinion?"

Elrond nodded, rather energetically.

"Indeed - this is my honest opinion. Neither of you could be happy with another, for you would, without a doubt, drive any other Elf mad with your antics. And now I ask you kindly to go and annoy somebody else, as I have some preparations for your bonding ceremony tomorrow to complete."

Glorfindel grinned and got up.

"Far be it from me to keep you from this important task! And do not forget that I wish all trees to be decorated with bright pink bows!"

Elrond groaned, and winced when the door slammed closed behind his seneschal, who never seemed to be able to close a door normally or quietly.

Then he sat down and wrote a note to Melpomaen to make sure all the trees would be decorated with green and dark red bows, as Erestor had wished.

Maybe Glorfindel was his oldest friend - but Erestor definitely batted his lashes more convincingly.

* * *

"I really do not like this, Elladan," Orophin grumbled, and looked at his reflection in the mirror disapprovingly.

"But I do – you look wonderful," the younger Elf replied, admiring his husband, who looked doubtfully down at his new robes. They were of a simple cut, the material being mossy green velvet with fine silver trimmings, but the Galadhrim looked very regal in them, like a noble Elf or even a lord. Elladan had never seen Orophin wearing robes before, which was no surprise, as the Lórien Elf deeply disliked the formal garb. If it had been up to him, he would have attended Master Erestor's and Lord Glorfindel's bonding-ceremony wearing his Galadhrim uniform, but this was out of question.

"It is also Estorel's name-giving ceremony, and as you are his guardian, you have an important part of it. Glorfindel would cut you into little pieces and feed you to the Wargs if you looked anything less than perfect tomorrow!"

Orophin laughed.

"So you think you I will not embarrass you tomorrow when I stand by your side?" Orophin asked, tugging on his sleeve and shifting uncomfortably.

"I will be the proudest of Elves tomorrow, beloved, and though I would not dare to say this out loud in Glorfindel's presence, I will be the one with the most handsome husband as well!"

He pressed a quick kiss on Orophin's cheek, then he went over to his chest and rummaged through the top-drawer.

"Something is missing…", he murmured, "… ah, there it is! Come, sit with me."

He patted the bed cover, and Orophin sat down obediently. Elladan walked around the bed, then he crawled over the cover, knelt down behind his husband and started to undo the warrior braids.

"What are you doing, Elladan? You know that I do not like to wear my hair open," Orophin protested.

"Shhh, quiet now. Let me try something, you can always complain once I have finished."

Orophin sighed, and gave in to Elladan's brushing, combing and arranging his long, silver blond hair. After a long while, Elladan gently slapped his back, and declared: "So, I am finished. And dare I say this looks stunning on you!"

The Galadhrim gave him a doubtful look, then he got up and stood in front of the mirror.

By the Valar – was this really him?

Elladan had woven a Mithril chain into his hair – the precious metal shone through the silver tresses like a circlet, and if Orophin had looked good before, he now definitely qualified as stunning. Gone was the archer from the Golden Woods – there was a noble Elf reflected in the mirror, and Orophin got scared.

"Elladan – that is … wonderful! But – it is not me."

Elladan, who had stepped up behind him, put his arms around Orophin's waist, and drew him into a tight embrace.

"Yes, this is you. It is who and what you are – beautiful. I only made your appearance to match your heart, beloved, and whether you are dressed in regal robes or in torn breeches, I love you just the same. But of course," he added, grinning mischievously and kissing Orophin's neck, "I shall find the greatest pleasure in showing you off, and smile smugly at everybody who will lust after you, for I know it is all in vain."

"In vain? Why – do you not think me fair enough to wake lust anymore?" Orophin protested, feigning insult.

Elladan giggled, and his fingers made short work with the fastenings of Orophin's robe, letting the delicate fabric slide to the floor.

"I certainly would not say this. I find you – very inspiring, actually. And this mirror is a wonderful thing, come to think of it - I can appreciate your beauty from all sides."

Orophin watched with increasing fascination how Elladan's hand wandered over his chest and stomach in the mirror. That this felt amazingly good he already knew – but it also looked rather interesting.

"Inspiring – yes, I agree", he said, gasping as he felt Elladan's hands moving further down his body, seeing the movement at the same time in the mirror.

"Ai – have I just discovered another way to tease you, my love?" Elladan smiled in Orophin's neck, brushing a light kiss on the sensitive skin behind the ear, and his husband nodded.

"Possibly."

"Well then," Elladan said, shedding his own clothes, "I shall see that we have the ceiling above our bed fitted with one large mirror."

Orophin spun around, staring at Elladan, who had a very wicked grin on his face.

"Elladan! This is… decadent! Why would you want to do this?"

"Because," the wicked Elf replied, drawing Orophin closer to him, "you are all around perfect, and I enjoy your rear view as much as I cherish your front."

Orophin laughed, and he even blushed, which Elladan found enchanting beyond words.

"You know, my love," Orophin snickered, while Elladan continued to place small kisses on his skin and occasionally nibble it, "it might be a nice bonding-ceremony-present for Erestor and Glorfindel to have their bedchamber fitted with a mirror, too."

"I am afraid this is a bad idea, beloved," Elladan said, looking up briefly and shaking his head.

"You think so? Why?"

"Because Glorfindel," Elladan said, "has already ordered one."

"Glorfindel, you said, was your tutor?" Orophin asked, taking Elladan's hand and steering him towards the bed.

"Yes, indeed," his husband replied.

"Remind me to thank him."

* * *

"Come in!" Gil barked when he heard the soft rap on his door, and he registered with some surprise that his unexpected guest was Erestor. He wore his usual black velvet robe, the only bit of colour was the dark-green silk lining of the sleeves. His hair was unbraided, a large carrion crow sat on his shoulder; and his only piece of jewellery was the large Mithril ring Glorfindel had given him as a sign of their upcoming bonding. The ring looked huge on the long, narrow hand, and all in all, Gil-galad thought, his appearance was rather exotic, and would have turned more than one head in Lindon.

"Master Erestor – come in. What brings you to my chambers? Have I broken rules again? Walked with dirty boots across the Great Hall? Insulted one of Elrond's advisors?"

Erestor smiled, and shook his head.

"I am most pleased to see you, too, my lord. I seem to have quite a reputation – do I really only seek you out when I have complaints? I hope not."

"Oh, come on," Gil muttered, "I know you do not approve of my presence. If it was up to you, Mandos would find a red carpet in the courtyard and you would even hold his horse for him while he dragged me away."

Now Erestor was really laughing – Gil-galad couldn't remember ever having seen this, and he was oddly taken by the sound.

"My dear lord – you mistake my concern for Lord Elrond's well-being with dislike for your person. I only wish to see my lord happy. I have no dislike for you."

Erestor stroked the crow on his shoulder, who was pecking after his braid, then he looked back at Gil-galad.

"This, of course, does not mean that I would not spread your guts all over the courtyard to dry and for my crows to feast on if you should hurt Lord Elrond in any way."

Gil-galad was lost for words for once, so Erestor used the break to deliver the message he had come with originally.

"I am here to inform you that Lord Amaris has saddled his horse and will leave Imladris for Mirkwood within the next minutes, so I suggest you hurry up if you wish to say goodbye."

He had actually wanted to say more, but Gil-galad had run out of the door so quickly that Erestor's last words were spoken to an empty room.

* * *

"I consider it an insult that you try to sneak out of Rivendell without telling me, and I demand to know when you will return!" Gil-galad shouted across the courtyard, and marched towards Amaris, who was just in the process of fixing his saddle bag. Hearing his king barking like an angry Warg, he sighed and turned around.

"Your consideration is noted, Sire, but will not change anything about my decision. As for my return, I am most sorry to have to inform you that it will not happen."

Gil-galad had reached his advisor now, and towered in front of him.

"What. What. What. Nonsense. Of course you will return. Mirkwood is as dull as Galadriel's crocheting circle."

"This may very well be, Sire, but still I have no intention of returning. I am sure you will find somebody else to insult; you could try your luck with Master Erestor, who is at least as skilled in the art of sarcasm as I am."

"I do not wish to be insulted by Master Erestor. You return within a month, that is an order."

Amaris shook his head, and a smile played around his lips, though Gil-galad couldn't help but notice that it was a rather bitter one.

"I think you have not understood, Sire: I leave your service. There is nothing anymore you can order me to do. I will return to Mirkwood, see how my family fares, and if all else fails, I can still sail West. This is my wish and will."

Gil-galad looked down at the elegant, slender Woodland Elf who was in every respect so different from himself. Annoying he was, true, obnoxious at times, vain and proud and arrogant, but he had also been a loyal and trusted friend for many millennia, and the thought that he would just ride out of this courtyard and Gil-galad's life was – frightening.

"Amaris", he said, his voice much softer, "have I done anything to drive you away? Have I hurt you? Did I do something wrong? If so, pray tell, and I shall make amends if possible. We have been friends for so many years, I will not have this end in such a way."

Amaris gave Gil-galad a long, thoughtful look. For the first time, the king noticed that there were tiny golden speckles in the blue of his eyes, a colour which reflected in his hair, and he wondered why he had never noticed before.

"You have done nothing wrong, Sire, apart from the things you always mess up, but this I am used to. No, it is an entirely personal thing. And I want to break the news of your return to my brother myself, before he turns up in front of Rivendell's gates with an army and ruins Lord Glorfindel's bonding ceremony by spilling your guts all over the courtyard."

Gil-galad wanted to say something about the general obsession with his guts, but Amaris cut him off.

"It has been an honour to serve under you, my king, but now I have to leave. I would think that giving you three ages of my life is enough. I beg you, in the name of our friendship: let me go."

Gil-galad knew that there could only be one answer to this request: to let Amaris go and release him from his service, thank him for his friendship and loyalty, and to wish him well.

He straightened up, managing the miracle of changing from scruffy looking warrior to regal king within the fraction of a moment, and as usual, Amaris held his breath, his heart beating at twice its normal speed, and for a very short moment, his eyes mirrored his heart. To be held just once in these arms, or to have the chance to kiss those lips - but these were favours reserved for the Lord of Rivendell, and he would rather spend the next millennia among spiders and Orcs than stand by and watch the two lovers.

Gil-galad counted the golden speckles – 8 in the left eye and 13 in the right, which was odd. He counted again - yes, 8 and 13. 21, all in all. Amazing - how could this have escaped him for so long?

"I thank you for everything you have done, for our people as well as for me, I thank you for your friendship and loyalty, and I wish you well, Amaris of Mirkwood. But I will not release you from my service."

"I beg your pardon?" Amaris asked, cocking his head, thinking he had misheard.

"Have you by any chance forgotten to clean your ears? I said: I will not release you from my service. As in: not. As in: never. As in: stay in Mirkwood as long as you wish, but one day, I wish you to return. Take your time. We are immortal, after all. And we still have not finished that game of chess we started last week."

There it was again, the thoughtful look on his advisor's face - was there more to Amaris' departure than the wish to see home and family again? But surely, it could not be that anybody had hurt the Mirkwood Elf - Gil-galad would have noticed and cut the culprit into little pieces. Maybe it was just another fancy, like hugging trees and weaving flower-chains.

"As you wish, Sire." Amaris finally answered, mounting his horse and riding out of the courtyard without looking back. The king should not see his tears, nobody should, they were his, and his alone, and one day, he was sure, there would be none left, and he could forget and find somebody else to give his heart to, somebody who would, for a change, love him in return.

Gil-galad stared after Amaris, and he was very surprised when he realized that the Mirkwood Elf took a piece of his heart with him when he left.

"21 golden speckles - how come I never noticed?" he murmured.

* * *

Dinner was an unpleasant matter this evening – first because Gil-galad was nowhere in sight and probably had gotten himself into trouble again, and as everything was already prepared for the celebrations on the next day, the kitchen offered only a rather simple meal. Unfortunately and without Elrond's knowledge, Elrohir and Melpomaen had managed to sneak into the kitchen while the chef had been looking after the preparations in the courtyard, so Elrond found himself sitting in front of a bowl of pumpkin soup tonight.

He was not too fond of pumpkin at the best of times, and the fact that some impertinent Elf, possibly Melpomaen, giggled every time the word "pumpkin" was mentioned, did not improve his mood. After a heroic attempt to eat the soup he finally gave up, pushed the half-emptied bowl aside, and looked hopefully at the plate which was placed in front of him – only to shy back at the sight of mashed pumpkin with cheese.

"What in Elbereth's name is this?" he boomed.

"Pumpkin," Elrohir piped up, and Melpomaen couldn't hold back any more and burst out in giggles.

"Do you, young Master Melpomaen, have anything valuable to contribute to this conversation, or are you merely being silly without a reason?" Elrond asked, overly friendly, and the young advisor tried his best to get his face under control again, which worked until dessert was served.

It turned out to be glazed pumpkin with vanilla cream, and now there was no holding back for Melpomaen and Elrohir, who literally rolled on the floor with laughter.

"This takes it too far! Elrohir! Melpomaen! I demand that you stop this nonsense immediately, and I also expect to hear who is responsible for this – menu!" Elrond shouted, hitting his fist on the table.

Right this moment, Gil-galad stormed into the hall, breathing heavily.

"I am most sorry," he gasped, "I was out, riding, and forgot the time."

Seeing Elrond all worked up and angry, he looked with concern at the Lord of Rivendell, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You look angry - is anything amiss, pumpkin?"

This was too much - all but Erestor and Orophin were howling with laughter, and even in Erestor's eyes one could see amusement, and Orophin's sudden bout of coughing might well have been a clever attempt to disguise a smile.

"Fine. Very well. I am most pleased that I could contribute to everybody's entertainment."

Elrond got up, not gracing anyone present with a single look, and slowly, the laughter ebbed away, and when finally silence had returned, Elrond looked at Gil-galad, who had no idea what the commotion was all about.

"If you would have the kindness to join me, dear friend - there are some things I wish to discuss with you. In private." he said, his voice as frosty and reserved as it could be, and Gil-galad, caught unaware by all this, just stared at Elrond, who crossed the hall and headed for the stairs to his study. When he stood on the first step, he turned around, and his voice echoed from all walls and was heard even in the stables:

"I wish to discuss this now. Are you coming - PUMPKIN?"

And as much as Gil-galad wished there was a Balrog or at least a Cave Troll attacking this very moment to get him out of the fix, there was no way to avoid facing Elrond's wrath.

Fighting a Balrog would have been more fun.

* * *

At first Orophin thought he was attacked by a wild beast, but then he realized, to his great delight, that it was Rúmil. The delegation from Lórien had just arrived, and Rúmil hadn't wasted any time on protocol or welcome ceremonies, only asked Elladan where Orophin was, and so he found him, sitting on a bench in front of a memorial - one Rúmil knew all too well.

The brothers where laughing and crying at the same time, hugging and kissing each other, and Rúmil asked a million questions, of which Orophin couldn't answer even one, but it did not matter: Rúmil could see and feel that his brother had indeed returned, unharmed, and the "why's" and "how's" were only of very small interest to him.

Finally, the two sat on the soft ground, the late afternoon sun covering the small clearing in a soft light.

"Why do you sit here and brood, Orophin? Why not return to your family and friends? It is a little morbid to sit here and look at your own memorial, it seems."

Orophin smiled, and Rúmil noticed with amazement how young his face looked this moment.

"I am not brooding, penneth. But these have been stressful and busy days, and I need some time to sort my thoughts. I will take some time to fully appreciate this gift, and the risk both King Gil-galad and Lord Celeborn have taken."

Rúmil, who had been playing with some dry leaves, looked up.

"I knew that the High King was involved - but what part did the Lord Celeborn play?"

Orophin told Rúmil how their bold lord had played with Lord Námo himself for their souls, how he had risked his own life and won theirs in the process. Rúmil listened without interrupting his brother's speech, only gasping once in a while or shaking his head in disbelief.

"This is the most amazing tale I have ever heard, Orophin. So we owe him your life then - how can we ever repay him for what he has done for you?"

He hugged Orophin again, pressing a kiss on his temple.

"When I was an Elfling, I often wished you would go away when you chided me for something I had done wrong. And when you were gone, after this horrible battle, I would have given anything to get you back. Do not play such a trick on us again, Orophin. You broke all our hearts."

Orophin leant in, and their foreheads touched.

"I shall not go anywhere, brother. I will look after Master Erestor's and Lord Glorfindel's heir, help to protect Rivendell and be a loyal servant to my lords." He took a deep breath, then he added: "And a good husband to Elladan."

"Husband?" Rúmil said, staring at his brother in alarm.

"What do you mean by 'husband'? Are you ... are you planning to get married?"

Orophin drew circles in the soft ground, and sighed.

"We do not plan to get married. We already got married - no, more than that: we got bonded."

"Bonded?" Rúmil squeaked, and he sounded suspiciously like one of Farmer Maggot's piglets.

"You got bonded to the heir of Rivendell? Ai Elbereth - what did Lord Elrond say to this? Did he attack you with a sword or with a battle axe?"

Orophin shook his head.

"Lord Elrond does not know about it yet - nobody does. You are the first I have told."

Rúmil flopped down on the ground, covering his face with his hands and shook his head violently.

"Aiya, Orophin! Of all things - what in Elbereth's name has gotten into you?" he groaned.

"Elladan," Orophin answered dryly, and Rúmil, who had propped himself up on his elbows now, glaring at his brother, replied: "Now this I have figured out myself - aiya, Orophin! Elven lords do not marry their lovers - they marry nice noble maidens and have half a dozen Elflings! How do you intend to give Elladan an heir? Do you hope Elbereth will leave an Elfling for you under a mallorn tree?"

Orophin rolled his eyes.

"According to Lindir, this is the normal way to get Elflings," he said, and Rúmil groaned again.

"An angry Balrog will be nothing compared to Lord Elrond when he finds out - you better tell him soon, and from a safe distance, and as I do not wish to lose you again: make sure you wear full armour. I think Haldir has his old Helm's Deep tin box still lying around somewhere."

"Well, that will not be of much use to me, Rúmil - it is sliced open on the back."

"I wish I had brothers who were poets and librarians!"

Orophin had to smile.

"I am aware that Lord Elrond will not dance on the table with delight - but he is a wise and kind father, I hope that he will take my love for Elladan into account."

Rúmil watched him carefully, then he took his hand.

"Do you truly love him, Orophin? I know that he loves you - we were afraid he would fade when you... left us."

Orophin nodded.

"Oh yes - I love him. He is my other half, I could not live without him anymore. He is kind and good, a little silly at times, and has his head in the clouds, but I could not find a worthier mate. We did not take this step on a whim, Rúmil, we are both aware of the consequences."

The two brothers sat for a while in silence, and stared at the monument. It was strange to see his own name on a memorial, and a cold shiver ran down Orophin's spine. He imagined what it must have been like for his brothers, and for Elladan, to collect the wood for his funeral pyre.

"I am sorry that we took this step without telling you", Orophin said, looking at his brother apologetically, "we thought that Námo would take me back to the Halls of Waiting, and..."

He broke off, and Rúmil smiled.

"Do not worry about this, brother. Yes, I would have very much liked to be present at that important moment of your life, but you can still have a proper ceremony some other time. What did Haldir say to all this?"

"He does not know yet."

Rúmil got up, and brushed leaves and soil off his breeches, then he offered Orophin his hand and helped him to get back on his feet.

"Then we should go and tell him now, Orophin."

So the two brothers made their way to Haldir's and Rabbit's cave; Námo, who had sat on Orophin's memorial all through their conversation, sighed, and turned to a white Elf who lay stretched out in front of it, lazily chewing on a blade of grass.

"You must admit, my dear Irmo, that this place is most entertaining. And our children - do they not have a refreshing enthusiasm for life?

"Allow me to correct you - these two are my children. I give life, you take it. A small, but significant difference, at least from their point of view. However, I do not really understand your sudden interest in the doings of the Elves, dear friend."

"I find them inspiring. They are so very much - alive."

"Now this should annoy you more than inspire you, Námo!"

The Doomsman of the Valar shrugged.

"I suppose I am a true romantic at heart. I always delight in seeing hopeless love win in the end."

"Then there is still hope for the fair Vairë? She has been pining for you since beginning of time, after all. Such commitment deserves a reward."

Námo snorted.

"Oh please - let us not get into this discussion again. Fair she is, there can be no doubt, and kind of heart, but you know that I cannot feel love - would you really want her to spend eternity with a mate who does not return her feelings?"

Irmo cocked a delicately formed, silver blond eyebrow.

"It is not as if she has a great variety of suitors, Námo. There are only three of us left who are unattached - of which one is a lunatic, one is you, and one -"

"Shhhht! Do not mention his name!" Námo hissed. "Do not even think of him in my presence! The mere thought of his existence causes me more pain than all the fires of Mordor, and this haven of peace shall not be marred by speaking his name!"

"As you wish. But ignoring his existence will not ending it, dear friend."

With that, Irmo, also known as Lórien, disappeared, and left a brooding Lord of Death behind him. After a while, Námo decided to return to the Halls of Waiting. He intended to enjoy the following day to its full extent, so he had to finish some paper work today.

Before he left, he blew a kiss in the direction of the memorial, and a rosebush began to grow, tiny green leaves showed ,rosebuds blossomed, and within seconds, the memorial of Elladan's great grief was covered with dozens of wonderfully scented red roses.

"Much better," Námo said to himself, "Elves might be great warriors and poets, but they are lousy landscape gardeners."

* * *

The sun obviously knew that this was a special day for the Elves of Imladris, and she had put on her most splendid robes, washed her face and brushed her hair. A mild breeze blew, birds were singing, and if it had been any more beautiful a day, Glorfindel would have grown suspicious.

But as things were, he sat in the bath, scrubbing his skin, washing his hair and singing a merry tune. What a wonderful day! Within a few hours, he would finally be bonded to Erestor, his dark jewel, and then he would have the legal right to cut the ears off anybody who dared to lay a hand on his advisor. Life was beautiful, indeed!

Corresponding with the traditions, Erestor had spent the last night in another wing of the Last Homely House, and Glorfindel had no idea what his robes would look like. But as far as Fin was concerned, Erestor could wear a sack and would still be the most beautiful Elf on Arda.

The warrior hummed and whistled, then he got out of the water, rubbed his skin dry and began to comb his hair. There was still plenty of time to get ready, as the ceremony would not take place before late afternoon, but he had risen early so he would not be in a hurry; as somebody who was notorious for being late even for his own death, he decided that this of all days would be a nice occasion to make a new start. This aside, Erestor would never forgive him for being late for his own wedding.

When he was satisfied with his hair, he put on the robes he had ordered from the seamstress for this special day. Knowing of Erestor's terror that he might appear wearing a red tunic, yellow coat and green breeches for his wedding, he had decided to humour his mate, so his robes were of a dark green, velvet and silk, embroidered with tiny pearls which shone in the morning sun. He completed his special outfit with a pair of dark green suede boots, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he whistled appreciatively.

"Glorfindel of Gondolin, you are one attractive Elf," he said, and blew his mirror image a kiss.

"And you are a big, silly Elf, too!" a merry voice grumbled behind his back, and Fin turned around in alarm, only to see Gandalf's smiling face.

"Gandalf! It is so good to see you!" he cried out, and flung himself into the arms of the old wizard, who stumbled under this assault. He patted the warrior's back lovingly, then took a step back and looked at him.

"Indeed - you are a welcome sight for my old, sore eyes," he said, and winked at Fin. "I hope Erestor will appreciate you as you deserve!"

Glorfindel grinned.

"Ai, Gandalf - it is I who should be grateful, for I certainly do not deserve him! It is so good to see you again, old friend - without you, this day could not have been perfect!"

Gandalf smiled, and decided not to mention the unpleasant matter which had led him to Rivendell - this would have to wait till tomorrow, for nothing in the world could be important enough to ruin his old friend's wedding day.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, and put his pipe aside. He began to search through the large bag he had brought along, and finally, he found what he had been looking for, fishing out an object, wrapped in blue velvet.

"Ah, here it is! I feared I might have left it at home - you know, with every millennia, my memory gets worse."

"I am not a Rohirrim, Gandalf," Glorfindel quipped, "the 'poor, tired old man' act is not working with me."

"Darn - and I had so hoped I could deceive you! Ah well - look, this is my wedding present for you, I thought you might want to give it to Erestor on this special day."

He handed the small bundle over to Glorfindel, who carefully unwrapped it. When he saw what it contained, he held his breath.

"Gandalf! By the Valar! How.... where did you find this?"

The wizard smiled, and shrugged it.

"It does not matter. But I thought it would be the perfect gift for Erestor, do you not agree?"

"Yes - oh yes! Thank you so much, you sweet and gentle soul - oh, I cannot wait to give this to Erestor!"

Glorfindel was dancing around the room, and Gandalf, who had seen the warrior suffer through his darkest hours, did not begrudge him his happiness at all - if anybody deserved to be happy, then it was Glorfindel.

* * *

There were two Elves in Rivendell who were not happy. One of them was even decidedly unhappy, and that was Celeborn. He had been a hunter for way too long to not see immediately that Rúmil was out for prey. That the prey in question was his wife was unpleasant enough - but the hunter being his own son - THAT was a bitter fruit to swallow for the Lord of Lothlórien. For such is the nature of males - they may not want something which they previously held dear anymore, but cannot live with the thought that maybe somebody else would want it.

His encounter with Galadriel had been brief and friendly; he had been surprised how calm he had been, and how little it had meant to him. Oh, he still loved her - you do not spend millennia with each other without love, and thousands of thin threads connecting two lives could be just as strong a tie as a thick rope, but he had felt instinctively, just as she had, that they had to rebuild their friendship, not their marriage, for this had gone for good.

So he was following his wife and his son, hoping not to be detected, and he wondered if she knew that Rúmil was his son. If she did, she hadn't told the young one, for Rúmil showed no difference in his behaviour, there was no sign of any rivalry. He had even thanked him for saving his brother, and expressed his loyalty and admiration.

'Lovely,' Celeborn said to himself while he took a stroll towards the Bruinen, 'he admires me and beds my wife. The true fruit of my loins.'

When he reached the bank of the Bruinen, he saw Gil-galad, who stared into the black waters and obviously thought about something unpleasant. While Gil-galad certainly was not high on his list of Elves to spend time with, he was still better company than a nervous Glorfindel, a grumpy Elrond or the Lothlórien love birds.

"Mae govannen, Ereinion," he said, "are you not preparing for the big ceremony?"

Gil-galad turned around, and gave Celeborn a dark look.

"No. I will not attend." he said, then he returned his attention to the river.

"You will not? But why - Elrond will certainly be disappointed?" Celeborn asked in surprise, though the prospect of not having to witness Gil-galad's archaic mating rites through supper held some attraction for him.

"I do not think so. You can return to the Last Homely House and stake your claim, Celeborn - you are a noble lord, while I am nothing but a peasant, disturbing the peace of this house and making its lord look like a fool in front of his court and family."

"Bitter words, Ereinion - and they sound like a quote", Celeborn replied, and Gil-galad laughed, alas without humour.

"Oh indeed - Elrond and I had a most pleasant conversation last night. Who would have thought that my sweet, lovely Herald would grow into such a Balrog!"

Celeborn had to laugh, which earned him an angry glare from Gil-galad, who sat down into the grass.

"Please forgive me my merriment, Ereinion - but Elrond's tempers are well-known - they are like a straw fire, hot and over very quickly. If you argued last night, he will have forgotten about it by this morning, so do not take it to heart."

"But he is right, Celeborn. I - do not belong here."

Against his will, Celeborn felt pity. He sat down beside Gil-galad, careful not to stain his robes in the grass.

"Let me speak openly, Gil-galad. You and I, we both want the same: Elrond. Let us leave the decision up to him - as things are, he might well chose somebody else, and we can cry into each other's jerkins over the loss."

Gil-galad looked at his companion, weighing his words and sincerity, then he nodded.

"Agreed, so let this be a fair battle then."

"So we have an agreement, fine. May the winner hold Elrond's heart dear. I only have one condition, Celeborn."

"And this would be?" the Lord of the Golden Wood asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I shall not play cards for him with you!"

* * *

"If nice Master Erestor does not stop being nervous, Mauburz will have to slap him up head and dress him while unconscious!" Mistress Straggler barked, and Erestor immediately stopped fiddling around with the fastenings of his robe.

"What does it look like, Mauburz? Is this not... too daring a colour?"

The Uruk'hai rolled her eyes.

"Is not daring. Is blue. Normal colour. Looks good on you and on sky. Also nice colour when somebody hits your eye. Will not happen today if you are nice Elf and not make Mauburz nervous!"

Erestor looked at his reflection in the mirror. As Fin loved blue so much, he had gone for a robe of dark blue and slate, which was an adventurous change from his usual robes which were black, dark black, light black or black with black ornaments. He felt daring, frivolous even.

The robe was ornamented with white jewels all around the collar, and Mistress Mauburz had woven them in his hair, too. They looked like stars in the night sky in the black hair, and while all this was very regal and beautiful, Erestor did not quite feel like himself in this outfit.

"So, now you are finished, can come down to garden to meet nice Lord Glorfindel. Not be nervous, very simple. Just say 'yes' when somebody asks question."

Erestor would have laughed if he hadn't been so nervous. Now that the moment he had longed for all these years had come, he felt like a blushing Elf maiden, and really silly, too. The weirdest thoughts raced through his mind - what if Fin changed his mind at the very last moment? What if Estorel started to cry? What if... aiya, this was leading nowhere!

Erestor took a deep breath, then he followed Mauburz, and together the two left the Last Homely House through the back door and walked down the small path towards Elrond's gazebo where the Lord of Imladris was already waiting, dressed in his most formal robes.

This alone would have been enough to fill Erestor with awe, but the sight of Glorfindel in all his green glory was too much for the advisor, and he swayed. 'Great', he thought, 'fainting on my wedding day, just the thing I need - how nice.'

Glorfindel quickly stepped to his side and caught him, pulling him gently towards him.

"Is everything in order, beloved?" he asked, worried, and Erestor took a deep breath, then he nodded.

"Ai - it is just so - incredible. You look wonderful."

Erestor smiled at Glorfindel, a sweet, sweet smile, and the warrior melted into a puddle.

"No - you look wonderful. And I have something here which I would like to give you, as a special present on this memorable day."

He turned around, and Elrond, who was smiling with an almost fatherly pride at the two Elves, handed him something.

"I want you to wear this, beloved. It used to belong to my father, and the Valar know how Gandalf found it, for I thought it to be lost, like everything else of Gondolin."

Erestor stared down at the object in awe - it was a circlet, so thin and fine it looked almost like cobwebs. There was a golden flower on the front, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. When Glorfindel placed it carefully on his head, he almost started to cry.

Fin kissed him lovingly, and stroked his cheek.

"No tears today, my dark jewel. This is a day of laughter and joy, for it is the day you will make me the happiest Elf on Arda."

Erestor smiled back, and they would have gazed at each other for all eternity if Elrond hadn't cleared his throat.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and when Erestor and Glorfindel, after exchanging one last look, nodded, he began to walk down to the summer garden, where all guests and the family had already gathered, waiting for the to-be-weds to arrive.

It was a joyful thing - there was music playing, Elves singing, some of the Galadhrim sat in the trees and rained down rose petals on the couple, but nothing was even remotely as lovely as Erestor's happy face, his smile and his bright eyes, Glorfindel thought.

Finally, they arrived at the place where the bonding ceremony should take place, and Elrond halted. He turned around, facing the two, and held up his hand - immediately, laughter, song, music and talk stopped, and a sacred silence fell.

Glorfindel stared at Elrond, he saw his lips move, but he did not hear the words - somehow he almost expected a troop of Orcs to turn up at the very last second to ruin this day, or a Balrog to land on the wedding cake, for certainly it could not be true - Erestor really wanted him?

He only came to his senses when he realized that Erestor was facing him, saying his vows.

"I bond with you - my dearest friend,  
Soul mate, companion, confidant  
A promise of love  
An oath I swear,  
A bond neither life nor death can sever."

 

Glorfindel swallowed hard, and for a short moment he feared he would faint, but then straightened up, looked at Erestor and said his own vows:

 

"I laugh with you  
I cry with you  
Shall always love  
And honour you  
Both freed and bound by our love,  
As witnessed by the stars above."

 

Elrond clapped his hands, once, sharply, and everybody broke out in cheers while Fin took Erestor in his arms and kissed him.

When he finally freed his new husband, Orophin stepped forward, carrying Estorel who sported a most splendid robe of blue velvet and who, amazingly enough, had managed to stay clean. Orophin stepped in front of Elrond, kneeling down and holding the Elfling, who giggled happily.

"Glorfindel of Gondolin - now that you are bonded, it is time to give this child his name. What shall his given father's name be?"

Fin took one step forward, and rested one hand on his son.

"He shall be called Estorel my lord."

"So Estorel it shall be. Erestor - what shall his given mother's name be?"

Now Erestor stepped forward, resting his hand over Fin's.

"He shall be called Luinil, my lord."

Glorfindel turned his head abruptly, staring at his husband, thinking he might have misheard. But Erestor only smiled at him warmly, and if they hadn't been right in the middle of Estorel's name-giving ceremony, he would have kissed him.

"So Luinil it shall be. Guardian - give me the Elfling."

Erestor and Glorfindel took one step back, and Orophin got up, holding Estorel out to Elrond. The Lord of Imladris took Estorel in his arms and rocked the little Elf gently.

"You are Erestor Luinil, son of Glorfindel of the Golden Flower and Erestor of the Circling Raven.

 

Your life shall be happy  
Your friendships be true  
Your words shall be honest  
Your heart remain pure."

 

He then handed Estorel, who had giggled and cooed all through the ceremony, back to Orophin; a symbolic gesture to release the Elfling into the hands of his guardian, and Orophin kissed the child, while Elrond clapped his hands again.

Again, everybody cheered and clapped, and Glorfindel took Erestor's hand, squeezing it.

"Thank you," he simply said, and Erestor squeezed his hand in return.

He took Estorel from Orophin's arms, and left the place with Glorfindel to join the guests. Orophin made to follow them, but the Lord of Imladris held him back, and raised his voice, addressing all present.

"Friends and family - I have a surprise for you. Not only can we celebrate the bonding between Lord Glorfindel and Master Erestor today, but also the union between my eldest son and heir, Elladan, and Orophin of Lothlórien. Now, if you, dear son and thorn in my side, would have the courtesy to step forward, we could do this properly and as it is customary among our kin."

Elladan stumbled forward, and found himself side by side with an equally shocked Orophin.

"Do you think you can stand through the ceremony, or shall I get you some chairs?" Elrond asked, not moving a muscle in his face.

"Ada," Elladan began, "how... we did not... I am sorry..."

"Son - if a father does not notice when his child has finally found happiness in his life, he would be a bad father, indeed. Just because you two are blind, it does not mean everybody else is, too. You are bonded already, so all I can do now is give you both my blessing, and express my honest wish that you will live a long and happy life together, and may you be as happy as I was with your mother. And now stop staring at me, Orophin, and kiss your husband already."

For a moment there was complete silence – even the birds did not dare to sing anymore, then somebody started to applaud, another one followed, and within seconds, Orophin and Elladan were surrounded by laughing Elves who hugged and kissed them, and the sun quickly hid behind a cloud, for the light in Orophin's eyes was brighter than any she could ever have produced.

* * *

"It is not fair," Elwin grumbled, and kicked a small stone down the dark corridor.

"Hear this? They are having a splendid time up there, drinking, singing, dancing, and what do we get? An evening sitting in a cave!"

"Oh, quit complaining already," Meldan replied, and stretched his lean body.

"Somebody has to guard this thingy here, and it is our turn. Look at the bright side of it – we will not suffer from a hangover tomorrow."

Elwin rolled his eyes, and looked with disgust at the stone container they had to guard. He had no idea what it contained, it had been brought from Lothlórien with great secrecy, and nobody but Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel, Master Erestor and Lord Celeborn were allowed to come near it, so he thought it must be something of great value and power. In a way it was an honour to be trusted with guarding this item – but still, it would have been nice to be out in the fresh air, celebrating, instead of sitting here in a dungeon.

Meldan heard something, and snapped to attention.

"Who is there?" he called, "Nobody is allowed down here!"

Both he and Elwin grabbed for their swords, which they quickly put back in their scabbards when they saw that it was neither Orc nor Uruk'hai but the lovely Lady Firinwë, carrying a wicker basket.

"My lady, I am afraid that you are not allowed to be here. My apologies, but this is an order from Lord Elrond."

She laughed, and gave the guard her sweetest smile, and he could feel his ears going all red.

"Oh, but I come from Lord Elrond, dear friend – he felt it was not fair that you two have to sit here in the dark when all of Rivendell is indulging in merriment, so he sends you these two bottles of Miruvor as a present."

"Really? Now that is very generous of Lord Elrond!" Meldan declared, and Elwin nodded enthusiastically.

"Is it not? Such a fine, gentle Lord – and here, this he sends as well."

Firinwë set down the basket and produced two glasses, one grilled chicken and some sweetcorn and fruits, as well as plates and everything else needed for a comfortable lunch.

"Here – I hope you will enjoy it. You are serving your Lord well, and it is nothing but right to reward you for you work," she laughed.

"And now you must excuse me – Lord Glorfindel still owes me a dance!"

With that, she waved the two guards good bye, and danced through the corridor, disappearing in the dark.

"She is beautiful," Elwin sighed.

"Yes, but I do not like her," Meldan said, frowning.

"But the Miruvor I like very much! Come – hold the glasses while I open the bottle!"

* * *

Haldir was drunk – very drunk. When he began to sing rather bawdy tavern songs and insisted on juggling with Elrond's best crystal glasses, Rúmil and Orophin decided that it was high time to take their brother home.

When they reached the cave where Haldir lived with Rabbit and Bramble, the youngest of the brothers had another attack of giggling, and nothing they said would stop him. Rabbit, who had been resting on the bed, curled around the sleeping Bramble like a wolf around his cub, got up and came to their help, picking his completely wrecked husband up and carrying him to his bed.

"Thank you for bringing him home. I hope nobody took offence at my absence – I do not like gatherings of many." Rabbit said, and put Haldir down on the bedcover.

Orophin shook his head.

"We understand, Rabbit. When I wake up with a sore head tomorrow, I will probably envy you, and…"

He broke off, and went over to a chest. There was a framed drawing hanging on the wall above, and Orophin stared at it.

"Anything wrong, Orophin?" Rúmil asked, and stepped closer.

"This picture," Orophin gasped, and stared at Rúmil, "who…"

Rúmil gently patted his arm.

"You have been away for a long time, brother. We – have found out about Haldir's family. I know how proud you are of our kin, but Haldir – Haldir is not fully Elven, Orophin. He is a Peredhil, like Lord Elrond. This is his mother, as far as we know."

Orophin continued to stare at the picture, and Rúmil, misinterpreting his behaviour, tugged on his sleeve.

"Orophin – I know that this must be a great shock to you, but he is still our brother, and does it really matter who his parents were?"

He looked at his oldest brother, who continued to stare and now reached out, touching the picture with his finger tips.

"This is Haldir's mother, Rúmil? Are you really sure?" he whispered, and Rúmil nodded.

"Yes – Lord Celeborn told us. His mother brought Haldir to him when he was just born, claiming she could not look after him."

The enormity of this revelation was too much for Orophin, and he dropped down on the bed beside Haldir.

"You do not look well, brother – shall I fetch you a glass of water?" Rúmil asked, worried, and Rabbit growled: "I do not care about his parents. He is my mate, and I shall never hold his ancestry against him."

He glared at Orophin disapprovingly, and the Galadhrim finally realized that his behaviour had been misinterpreted.

"Aiya – you have me all wrong. Haldir could be the offspring of a Cave Troll and I would still love him dearly. But you do not understand – I knew this woman!"

"What? You knew her?" Rúmil gasped, and both he and Rabbit stared down at him with eyes big as saucers.

"Yes. I knew her," Orophin softly replied, "her name was Lilly."

"Orophin!" Rúmil moaned, and shook his head, "how come you know Haldir's nana?"

Orophin closed his eyes for a moment.

"I love you."

"You shouldn't."

"I know. But I love you, anyway."

He looked at Rúmil, then at Rabbit, and finally he turned to Haldir, who had fallen asleep by now. He ran his hand over the silver blond hair, followed the line of the nose and the lips, and finally, his fingers rested on Haldir's throat, feeling the calm, steady pulse.

"I should know his mother, Rúmil."

He smiled up at the two confused Elves, and continued:

"I should – after all, I am his father!"

* * *

Erestor, a little tipsy and drunk, sneaked into the library, but to his horror, he realized he was not alone.

Of all the people to run into, it had to be Gil-galad. How utterly embarrassing.

Erestor's face was aflame when he found the Elven king reading in what looked like '1007 Lórien Love Positions', which just happened to be the book Erestor had come to fetch – he had planned a surprise for Fin.

Gil-galad looked up, and, mistaking Erestor's blush for disapproval of his presence, quickly snapped the book closed.

"I hope I have not offended you - I was looking for books on the history of Rivendell, to catch up with the last millennia, and I just happened to find this - section."

Erestor chose not to comment on the obvious fact that Gil-galad must have ignored at least four signs clearly saying NO ENTRANCE in both Sindarin and Quenya to "happen to find" this section. Instead, he politely bowed his head.

"I am not offended at all, my lord, and I am sure Lord Elrond would not mind seeing you here, either, after all, these are your books."

There was a certain impertinent undertone in the last words, and Gil-galad, never one to shy back from a challenge, stepped beside Erestor, opened the book and flicked through the pages.

"Ah, I see you have read them, Master Erestor. It is good to see an advisor who takes his duties so serious. But I must say that I am most grateful for your presence, for I need the advice of an expert, and you seem to be just the Elf for this. Now look at this," he said, and showed Erestor a picture of truly spectacular content, "do you think this is possible, or has the artist taken some liberties with the illustration?"

Erestor, who had heard the same question last night from Glorfindel ("Come to your senses, Erestor - this is NOT possible! The artist must have gotten something wrong! Erestor! Put that thing away!"), blushed again, and Gil-galad, mentally rubbing his hands over embarrassing the stoic advisor, pushed the boat a little further out. He turned a couple of pages, and then pointed at another picture.

"Or this here - I am not sure if this is a leg, an arm or... Master Erestor? Is everything alright with you? You look a little... flushed?"

But there came no answer. Instead, Erestor licked his lips nervously and moved closer to Gil-galad, who noted with confusion that the advisor was growling.

"Eh ... Erestor? Do you not feel well? Shall I call somebody?" the dark-haired Elf asked, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

Erestor glared at him, a predatory grin on his lips. Then he sniffed.

"I like your scent", he said.

'By all Valar but Mandos, what is wrong with this Elf?' Gil-galad thought, and tried to move away from Erestor, but the advisor, who did not look stoic at all anymore, would not have it, and followed him.

He hardly had the time to notice the feline movement of Erestor, then Gil-galad found himself grabbed with a force never expected from an Elf as willowy looking as Erestor and shoved against the shelves with such a might that some of the tomes fell out and landed with a loud 'thud' on the floor.

"Erestor! What are you doing!" he gasped, but further protests were not possible, for now Elrond's advisor was kissing him hard, and he threw the larger Elf rather unceremoniously on the floor. Gil-galad quickly moved to lie on top of the other Elf, who had obviously gone mad, and he already feared he would have to knock him out when Erestor stopped, staring at Gil-galad in horror.

"What – I am so sorry, what have I done?" he gasped, and tried to wriggle out from under the taller Elf above him.

"Well, if I am not completely wrong, you initiated some strange Noldorian mating ritual", Gil-galad grinned, not really willing to let Erestor go. "And, if I may add, you were quite successful".

Erestor tried to move away, and shook his head, glaring at Gil.

"I love Glorfindel. I would never… with anybody else…please let me get up."

Gil-galad sighed, secretly regretting this lost opportunity, but when he tried to get up to let Erestor go, The Hand of Doom grabbed his neck, dragged him off the advisor and out of the small room.

"What the..." he began, then he found himself face to face with an angry Balrog slayer. A very angry Balrog slayer. And if Gil-galad had learned one thing in the Halls of Waiting then it was not to cross Glorfindel of Gondolin's path when he was in a bad mood, and this was the mood out of Mordor.

"What do you think you are doing here!" Glorfindel barked, shaking the larger Elf by the neck like a cat her young one.

"Fin! Fin - please!" came Erestor's shaken voice from behind, but Glorfindel didn't react, he grabbed Gil-galad by the front of his tunic again, and shook him, hard.

The other Elf was simply not one to tolerate such rude treatment, especially as he felt he was attacked unjustly, and he punched Glorfindel in the side. The blond winced and let go for a second, only to attack again. Within seconds, the two Elven lords were fighting on the floor of the library, fists were flying while insults unheard of in the Last Homely House rang through the air, and Erestor, who had finally come to his senses again, tried in vain to separate the two.

Gil-galad landed a hit on Fin's chin, and the Balrog-slayer stumbled, smashed into Elrond's desk and threw it over in the process, landing hard among scrolls, books and notes, and Gil-galad was above him immediately, fist raised to land another blow, when he felt somebody holding his arm and dragging him away.

"What in the name of Elbereth is going on here!" Elrond boomed while he kept the struggling king in an iron grip, and Erestor hastened to Glorfindel's side. He was still lying on the floor, his head spinning and his right eye already starting to turn black.

Gil-galad didn't look much better, though - his nose was bleeding and he had a split lip.

"It is entirely my fault..." Erestor sobbed, stroking Fin's hair, "I - I really do not know what came over me, I suddenly felt I had to... and then..." He buried his face in his hands, and Fin, who slowly started to understand what was going on here, banged his own head several times on the hard stone floor, which gained him an additional splitting headache.

Gil-galad wanted to say something, but Elrond steered him towards the door.

"Please follow me, dear friend, so that I may care for your wounds. Then we can go watch the lupines grow in the garden."

Gil-galad thought that Elrond could put his lupines where the sun didn't shine, but as his nose was really hurting like Mordor, he decided to wring Glorfindel's neck another time, and followed Elrond out of the library.

Once the two had departed, Fin moved again. He sat up, raked his fingers through his hair and stared at Erestor.

"Erestor. Gift of the Valar. Dark flower of my life and delight of my nights. You know I love you. I really do. I would give my life for you, and you know it."

Erestor, still sobbing, nodded.

"But this can NOT go on, darling. I have never seen Rabbit behaving like this, and I can only assume that you suffer from other... symptoms than he does because you are not a full Plains Elf. I understand this. I really do. But I cannot bear this anymore. Enough is enough."

With that, he got up, and held out his hand to the devastated advisor who still sat among scrolls and books. Erestor took the offered hand, hesitatingly, and Fin dragged him to his feet.

"Will you leave me now?" Erestor whispered, knowing he would drop dead on the spot if Fin ever so much as hinted at the wish to be separated from him.

"No," Fin said, and threw the amazed advisor over his shoulder, carrying him through the library and out of the door, just like he had done on that fateful night at the beginning of their relationship, "I will not leave you. We will now go up to our chamber, lock the door and get involved in the production of another Elfling. Elbereth be my witness, I would rather have 20 of the little rascals running around my study and trashing my furniture than ever have to see you kissing Gil-galad again - this will give me nightmares for at least a century, if not more!"

With that, he hastened up the stairs, taking two steps in one, and Erestor, who was hanging over his shoulder like a sack of flour, did the only thing a self-respecting Elf could do under such conditions:

He purred.

* * *

(almost) THE END

* * *

EPILOGUE AND PREVIEW ON "FINDING NÁMO"

~ ~~ Meanwhile, back in Tíngel Forest, where the day is as dark as the night… ~ ~ ~

 

Any other but Firinwë would have been scared standing in front of the Great Lord of Tíngel Forest – but as she was somebody who considered nobody of any importance but her own illustrious self, outer appearances did not impress her, and while she certainly would have preferred the company of some nice looking Elf to hundreds of Orcs, she was not afraid.

The Great Lord looked at her, an amused smile on his lips.

"Are you tired of your life, She-Elf, that you came here?"

She didn't see him speak, she heard him more in her mind than she heard his words with her ears, but this also failed to impress her.

"No, Great Lord. I have come to offer you something that you have been craving for ages."

"I do not crave anything - but I hope your tale is amusing, She-Elf, for I am bored. See this candle? It is almost burnt down. I will give you as long as it burns if I fail to be interested, which is very likely, your life shall extinguish like its flame."

He pointed to a small stump of wax with a weakly flickering flame.

She shrugged.

"One would think that somebody in your position could afford candles of better quality, but very well. I offer you Middle-Earth, Great Lord."

He laughed, shaking his head, and his long, black hair cascaded over his back, rippling like a piece of finest silk. 'Nice,' Firinwë thought, 'I wonder if it feels as lovely as it looks?' But now was not the moment for such musings.

He still laughed.

"Middle-Earth? Why should I want Middle-Earth? I have spent ages here already, banned from my throne. If there is one thing I do not wish then it is to rule a realm of Halflings, Elves, Dwarves and Mortals!"

"We all have to start somewhere, Great Lord. This is only the beginning – with my help, you will not only rule over all of Arda, but over Valinor and the Valar themselves!"

An angry flash emerged from the black eyes.

"She-Elf! What madness drives you? I shall have you torn apart by my dogs this very moment!"

"Now this would be a very unwise thing to do, Great Lord. Because without me, you will never reach your target – and I have the only thing that can help you to regain the throne: I have The Ring of Mandos."

The Great Lord spun around, taking one step forward.

"You have The Ring? How did it come to be in your possession?"

She shrugged.

"All it took was two silly Elves and a bottle of wine. So - I have The Ring, and I am willing to give you what you want. Of course, there are some things I want, too…"

Firinwë broke off, looking at the Great Lord, whose fair face had taken on a furtive expression, and there was a dangerous glimmer in his eyes.

"You want something? Pray tell, She-Elf, why should I give you anything? I could just tear you apart and take the ring, if I had my mind set on it. Do not mistake me for my brother, who is as weak as a toothless dog – I do not ask for things, I take them."

"I have never met your brother, so I cannot judge this, but you need my help – The Ring does not obey you, only a She-Elf can use it. You cannot fight the Valar with force, you need a cunning plan, and that is exactly what I can provide along with the ring."

He considered her words for a moment. Not only was she right – this also promised to be a great adventure; finally a distraction from the same daily routine that had pained him for so many ages. He was bored out of his skull, and now these damnable Elves had even ruined his occasional pleasure of hunting Galadhrim. In other words: he had nothing to lose, if all should go wrong, he would simply snap her neck or throw her to the Wargs - his position couldn't get any worse than it already was, anyway.

"So we agree on this then, She-Elf. Now tell me – what is it you want?"

Firinwë smiled. This was going even better than she had hoped!

"Ai, Great Lord, I do not ask for much. I want Lothlórien to rule, Lord Celeborn as my personal slave, Galadriel and that annoying Elrond banned to – well, some ugly place, I leave it up to you – and Erestor, that miserable son of a Cave Troll, shall spend the rest of his life in your mines."

The Great Lord had sat down gracefully again in his seat, head propped on his hand.

"Is this all you want, She-Elf? Would you not like to have a pretty pony, too?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

She considered this for a moment.

"A pony? Yes, why not – ponies are nice. So, yes, I would like to have a pony, too. But for starters," and now a really evil smile was on her lips, "for starters I want Glorfindel of Gondolin, as my personal possession and for me to play with."

The Great Lord wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Glorfindel? That battered old war horse? Pray tell – what do you want with this feeble excuse for an Elf?"

She smiled smugly.

"Oh, I am sure one can relight his fire – it just requires an expert. Now, Great Lord – what do you say? Do we have an agreement?"

He looked at her, and for the fraction of a moment Firinwë wondered if she had perhaps just made a terrible mistake, but this feeling lasted too briefly for her to consciously register it.

"We do have an agreement, She-Elf. Follow my guards, they will show you to your quarters."

Six of the ugliest Orcs Firinwë had ever seen stepped forward. Compared with these creatures, Mauburz the Straggler almost looked like an Elf. 'Nothing hot water and perfumed bathing oil could not improve,' she said to herself, 'things are going to change dramatically around here.'

Before she left the Great Hall with her escort, she stopped and turned around.

"And what about Glorfindel?"

The Great Lord waved her off, stifling a yawn.

"Stop your jabbering already, She-Elf, he will be brought to you in a short time."

"Unharmed?"

"Unharmed," he assured her, and watched her departure.

"Unharmed, my dear," he said to himself, and grinned.

"Well – mostly."

* * *

"Hey!" the audience says, "and what is with Mandos? And the ring? Firinwë? What happened to Amaris in Mirkwood? And Gil-galad? You can't just leave us hanging there, you evil Elfwriter!"

Ah – you will learn all in time – in the upcoming sequel

"Finding Námo"

But for now, my dear friends, this is

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> _Orophin, Rúmil and Haldir: the hair colour aside, I've hardly ever seen three brothers which looked less alike than these three. For me, family is a matter of the heart rather than of blood, so I decided those three are brothers by choice, not by birth. A bit unorthodox, I agree, but I think we have left canon far behind already when we let an Orc with a crush on Elrond run an aromatherapy-shop in Rivendell._


End file.
